


Dreaming in Red and Gold

by Batsutousai



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Edward Elric Swears, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Sexual Content, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 95,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Drachma agrees to meet for peace talks at Briggs Fortress, General Roy Mustang is the one sent to represent Amestris. It just so happens that the Drachmans have their own Amestrisan, who is far too skilled at turning the most tedious of discussions into an exciting time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spawned from a scene I cut from _From the Worst of Times_ (yes, imagine, that monster could have been even _longer_ ). This fic has the same general background and cast of OCs – I reused everyone because half of them were already fleshed out in my head, and the other half didn't take long to give backstories – but this is _not_ a sequel. Central Command did not get blown up, and Roy and Ed aren't together. (Yet.)  
>  So you don't have to read FtWoT to read this, but you certainly may.
> 
> This fic involves Drachma, which I based on Imperial Russia. I tried to stick to historical fact – so, you know, no sorcerers rising from the dead to carry out their vengeance on the Romanov line – but I am by no means an historian and a lot of my knowledge is drawn from Wikipedia, because I am lazy and by the time I gave up on this being a one-shot, I'd already written almost 30K, so...  
> The handful of Russian in the story is thanks to Google Translate. If you're fluent and want to correct me, I'm happy to make any changes. :) Please do note, however, that I'm using the Latin alphabet instead of the Cyrillic because this is from Roy's PoV, and he doesn't know the Cyrillic alphabet, so he's hearing Drachman in the closest Latin-alphabet equivalent.
> 
> Tried to make Roy slightly less of an emotionally stunted mess, but I'm pretty sure I failed. (I wonder, sometimes, if it wouldn't be better if I was writing from Ed's PoV, but then, he's had his feelings beat into him by a third party and he's picked avoidance as a strategy, so... Both of these boys are idiots.)
> 
> This fic is completed at 11 chapters. I'll be updating every other day, so the last chapter will go up on 17 November, for those who prefer to read the whole fic in one go. (Plan a large chunk of time; this is over 90K words, according to Word. *ded*)
> 
> You can also read this at [Fanfiction.Net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11583340/1/), [tumblr](http://batshieroglyphics.tumblr.com/post/132073487959), or [LiveJournal](http://batsutousai.livejournal.com/338335.html).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends in a weird place, because I'd originally intended another one-shot, and then gave up, but there were no good chapter cuts. :/

"So," Roy said around his tumbler of scotch, "know anything about the Drachman Imperial family?"

The look his aunt sent him asked 'Who do you think I am?' and Roy hid a smile in his drink. "Probably about as much as your lackeys," she admitted quietly, which was as much expected as it was a let-down, if Roy was being perfectly honest. "The name of the young prince, Mikhail, and the name and a vague description of their ruler, Tsar, whatever: Ivan Petrov. That there are three princesses older than the prince, and there was a concern about who would be inheriting for a long time." Chris gave a careless roll of her shoulders, a motion that Roy had picked up from her which was as much a sign of concealed irritation as it was a shrug. "The peace delegation is arriving at Briggs in a couple days, and you're leaving on a train to greet them tonight. Are your bags packed?"

Roy's smile was harder to hide that time, tinged with resignation; his aunt made it a habit to know his movements, and it was so normal any more that it didn't really bother him. "Yes," he answered simply, letting her decide exactly what he was responding to.

Chris gave him her best unimpressed stare, developed when he'd been a boy and honed to perfection by the time he hit puberty. "You had best not be thinking to miss your train, Roy-Boy."

Sometimes, Roy wondered what the other patrons of Madam Christmas thought of her interactions with the man in the shadowy corner. It was hardly a concern now; early yet, there was only one other man in the pub, and he was being handily distracted by Dorothy's bright smile. "Of course not," he offered with a salute of his tumbler. "This is medication for those benches."

The look Chris gave him made it clear he'd be getting barley tea if he stuck around for another drink. Which was fine; if Roy'd really been intent on getting drunk, he'd have gone home to his personal stash.

The door chimed and Roy glanced over to see Havoc stepping inside, his easy smile turned on Dorothy. Roy sighed and finished his scotch, then stood as he sat down the tumbler. "Thank you for the drink, Madam," he offered in his politest voice.

Chris sighed and collected the glass. "Take care up north, Roy-Boy," she returned, quiet enough that no one else would overhear.

He flashed her his charming smile, then went to join his subordinate by the door, motioning him out before Dorothy could get it into her head to call down one of Havoc's favourites, because then they wouldn't leave until he'd been turned down.

Havoc waited until they were both in the car and he'd pulled away from the kerb before asking, "Anything helpful, Chief?"

"No," Roy admitted, casting his gaze out over Central City as they passed it by. "But I didn't expect much. That visit was more intended to make sure the madam knew I was going to be out of town."

"She already knew," Havoc replied, and Roy didn't have to look into the rear-view mirror to see his shit-eating grin. "Didn't she?"

"Of course she did," Roy agreed, allowing himself a fond little smirk. "Her fingers may not be long enough to cross over our borders, but there are no secrets from Madam Christmas in Central City."

"That's the truth," Havoc agreed, his tone as fond as Roy's smirk, and Roy would never not be grateful that his team had taken his aunt's profession in stride.

They arrived at the station to find a beehive of military activity, since the train they were taking North was also the weekly supply train. Roy sighed as he put on his best game face and stepped out of the car, leaving it to Havoc to collect their suitcases from the trunk because that was expected.

While Roy would have preferred only one member of the Central brass with one or two aides going north to meet with the Drachman delegation, given the meeting was due to take place in the military stronghold of Briggs, Führer Grumman insisted a larger force was expected, and those generals he relied upon for their input in the matter largely agreed. Roy could have fought harder, but he had been far more focussed on ensuring that none of the brass who would be likely to start another war were going north. Somehow, it ended up being his job, with Major General Vincent Vickers going to act as his command second and Drachman expert, as if he couldn't have just relied on Lieutenant General Olivier Armstrong's familiarity with Drachmans.

Honestly, Roy found relying on any member of the military without direct blood ties to Drachma for knowledge about them highly suspect, but Vickers had been quick to insist that his four years watching the border crossing in the west area made him Central City's resident expect on Drachmans, and he'd quickly gathered the support of those of the brass who didn't like that Roy was shoe-in for Grumman's seat when he finally retired.

"Ah, Mustang, there you are," Vickers called, his western small-town accent tweaking at Roy's nerves. "I was beginning to think your driver had got lost."

Roy turned a cool smile on the man and replied, "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc is a competent driver and plenty familiar with Central's streets; perhaps your own driver could use a refresher in safe driving?"

Vickers' expression could have melt the ice on Briggs' walls, but he didn't appear to have a ready response, so Roy brushed past him, eyes picking through the milling soldiers for the familiar blonde head of his adjunct.

Riza appeared at his side, ending his search. She had a sheaf of papers in her left hand, her right hand loosely holding a couple pages up as she looked at the pages under them, and Roy knew she could drop those pages and draw her gun before the sound of a shot fired could finish echoing through the crowd, if necessary. "You and Lieutenant Colonel Havoc are the last to arrive," she reported efficiently, before casting him an unimpressed look all her own, though Roy had long suspected that she'd received some pointers from his aunt after the first time they'd met. "I do hope that drink I smell on your breath was worth the delay, sir."

Roy didn't cringe, though it was a near thing. "A last drink before a long night on hard train benches is always worth the delay, Colonel," he returned.

Riza let out a vaguely disbelieving sound as she let the pages she'd been holding up drop, then she held the sheaf of papers out for him to take. "Please read and sign those before we get to North City, sir, since I know you won't be sleeping on those hard benches," she said, and he grimaced as he took the papers. "I'll see about rounding everyone up." Then she was gone.

Havoc whistled, announcing his presence a step behind Roy. "Shouldn't have had the drink, Chief," he pointed out, his grin obvious in his voice.

Roy sighed. "Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel," he returned drily, and Havoc let out a bark of laughter. "Let's find our compartment before this crowd starts descending on the few decent benches."

"Decent benches?" Havoc repeated sceptically, even as he joined Roy in slipping through the crowd towards the nearest open car door.

"There must be some," Roy agreed, "otherwise how could Fullmetal always sleep on them?"

"Maybe Al made a comfortable pillow?" Havoc suggested.

Roy didn't think that deserved a response.

They quickly found the officer compartments and picked one out for themselves, Riza, and Falman. Roy would have liked to have had his entire team with him, since he had to go and certain events had left him with a lasting dislike of letting his team out of his reach, but there was no real reason for Fuery to tag along up to Briggs, and Breda was neck-deep investigating a lead Chris had passed on the week before. He'd almost had to leave Havoc behind to watch the office – and probably should have, honestly – but Riza had helpfully insisted that Roy needed two bodyguards if he was going to meet the delegation of a nation they'd only ever had hostile relations with, and _no one_ could argue that Falman – who was going along because he was familiar with Briggs and North City – had the necessary qualifications to serve as a bodyguard.

Roy sighed as he settled into the hard wood of the benches. He vaguely considered pulling out the heavy winter coats they'd brought with them from supply, but previous experience said they wouldn't help pad the benches, even if they were effective at keeping them warm up north. "Find me a pen, please," he asked as Havoc hefted one of their suitcases into the overhead.

Havoc nodded and pulled open the other suitcase – a fresh pack of cigarettes front and centre told Roy whose it was – to hunt down a pen, which he handed off to Roy before closing the suitcase and shoving it up to join Roy's. The coats followed as Roy started in on the paperwork, then he settled in across from Roy to stare out the window at the men and women forming up on the platform, following the orders which – Roy had little doubt – Riza was giving.

By the time the train was loaded with military personal and Riza and Falman had joined them, Roy was finished with about half the stack of papers, and he held them out to his adjunct without a word.

Riza took them with a small, approving smile, and Havoc joked, "Maybe we should invest in a train bench for the office."

"Was that a request for your own desk?" Roy returned, and Havoc managed a short laugh before Riza helpfully pulled out paperwork for herself, Havoc, and Falman. Roy blinked at her as she closed the nearly empty suitcase and asked, "Did you bring anything other than paperwork, Colonel?"

"I bought two suitcases, sir," Riza replied as she settled down with her own paperwork.

Roy glanced at Havoc, who pulled a face, then hurriedly turned his attention back to his paperwork before Riza could pull out her gun.

-0-

Probably the only good part about an overnight train, was that no one expected Roy to make polite conversation with them. Which, well, Roy was quite content to avoid Vickers' compartment, but after he'd checked his watch for the third time in a row, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep, he gave it up as a bad job and slipped out of his compartment, grabbing one of the coats on the way. He stopped in the hall just long enough to switch out his trademark gloves with the ones that were in the coat pockets and make sure his coat was hiding his rank and the bars noting his medals and honours, then he slipped into the train cars.

It was hard to go unknown in Central Command, given his visibility and the fact that there weren't that many members of the military with Xingan ancestry, but on the train? With the lights dimmed and everyone teetering on the edge of sleep? He was just another dark-haired soldier.

It didn't take him long to find a group of four soldiers playing poker, and they were happy to let him join once he proved he had some cenz to throw in the pot.

Roy had never been a particularly good poker player, despite, as Maes had always complained, having the 'perfect poker face'. Roy insisted poker was too much a game of chance, too dependent on which cards you got handed. Maes had always laughed at him when he pulled that complaint, and then proceeded to take him for all he was worth.

Being a bad poker player worked out in his favour on the rare occasion that he could slip into a game with enlisted men, because people seemed genuinely more trusting when they realised they were better than you. So, Roy got some pointers – he didn't mention that Maes had told him all of them at various points – and got caught up on the gossip.

Two of the men – Hadrian and Omar – were transferring from cities in the west, the only woman – Sabine – was transferring from South City (they all offered sympathies, because that was a nasty change in climate), and the last man – Wright – was transferring from one of the cities in the central area. He heard all about their previous postings, mostly good, but there was a corrupt Lieutenant Colonel in the northern part of the west area that he would have investigated as soon as he could send the orders to Breda. When asked, Roy gave Maes' name and admitted that he was part of the group headed up to Briggs, which opened an entirely new topic to talk about: the two generals on-board.

None of the soldiers had ever worked with Vickers or Roy, but Hadrian had heard stories about Vickers, having been posted relatively close to the border crossing where Vickers had been posted by Bradley before the Promised Day, and Omar knew Vickers' son, a sheriff in Wellesley. Vickers was reportedly a fair man, though the death of his wife a few years before the Promised Day had changed him, made him more distant, even with his own son. He still cared about his people, which Roy knew, but he kept a wall between them and himself, and he had a habit of refusing to have women in his command. (A comment which sparked a few lecherous remarks and a side-eye towards the only resident female, to which she responded by winning the next hand and practising her aim by bouncing cenz off the foreheads of the perpetrators, until one of the nearby soldiers who was somehow managing to get some sleep woke up and snapped at them to settle down before they brought one of the commanding officers down on their heads and they all got tossed in the stocks.)

When Roy pressed for their impressions of the infamous Flame Alchemist, he got back mostly the rumours that sprung up around him, some of which, he knew, had been spread by his own team to make his life more difficult. The only non-rumour response he got was from Wright, who had been in the perfect position to hear his and Vickers' exchange on the platform; after repeating the exchange for his audience, he added, "They clearly don't get on, but I think Mustang's got the sharper wit."

"Sounds like a fun guy," Omar added, "if you can get past his cold face."

"I don't think he's that cold, though," Sabine pointed out as she dropped a card and picked up a replacement. "You said he specified the name of his driver, Wright?"

Wright nodded, scowling at his hand. "Yeah. Rank and last name." He tossed down his hand. "Fold."

"Not many of the brass know that much about their drivers," Sabine insisted. "Browning only ever made note of rank. I mean, he was nice enough and all, but he didn't make a habit of learning the names of anyone below lieutenant colonel."

"This guy was a lieutenant colonel," Wright was quick to point out, before adding, "but I can see your point; Central's a different place than South, way more soldiers to keep track of. I mean, Mustang's a three-star general, right? You can't expect him to know the names of anyone below a colonel, I'd bet."

Roy coughed. "In fairness," he offered, "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc is part of his office team, not a carpool driver."

"Okay, so, it's not your average Tom, Dick, or Harry on the side of the street. But still, the rumours paint him as this absolute dick, right? Wouldn't stop to help you out of a pit unless you're a woman–"

"So, you," Hadrian interrupted.

"Shove it. Point is, he stood up for his man. You don't see that often enough in the military."

"Hear, hear," Omar agreed before throwing down his hand with a flourish. "Four queens. Read 'em and _weep_."

Roy blinked once at his hand of hearts, let out a surprised noise because he honestly hadn't been paying attention, and set it down on the pile of suitcases they were using as a table. "Straight flush."

"Holy _shit_ ," Wright said as Sabine laid down her full house. "You actually _won_ , Maes. Didn't you say you'd–"

"Never won before in my life?" Roy finished for him as he swept the three crumpled bills, two 500 cenz coins, and two ration slips off the suitcases. "I may have lied a little bit: I have now won three games. And I'm pretty sure my best friend lost on purpose for one of them."

"Yeah, I'm still liking those odds," Sabine decided before collecting their cards and shuffling the deck. "You still in, or you gonna skip while your luck's high?"

Roy stared down at the two ration slips, neither of which he had any use for, then shrugged and agreed, "Deal me in again. Let's see if I've actually learnt anything, or if that was just pure luck."

The other four chuckled and they settled in for another game, the topic turning towards what they knew of the command at North City.

(As it turned out, Roy's winning hand had been pure luck, and he lost the two rations slips both rapidly and without complaint.)

He stuck it out for another couple hands, before leaving them to hunt down the military's sad excuse for a food car. It was brighter there, though largely empty due to the still-early hour, and the captain handing out the rations came to attention and saluted almost as soon as he stepped through the door, stammering out a disbelieving, "General Mustang, sir!" The other two people in the car, both corporals, jumped tiredly to their feet with salutes of their own.

"At ease, Captain, Corporals," Roy soothed with an easy return salute. He waited until the two corporals had fallen back into their seats before striding across the car to where the captain was watching him with wide eyes.

"Sir," she said uncertainly, "I was told there was food for you and Major General Vickers in your compartments. Was there something wrong with what you were given?"

Roy quickly shook his head. Riza had mentioned that one of the other compartments in their car had food and drinks for them, and he would probably head that way directly, but that wasn't why he was back here. "Nothing like that, Captain. I was just wondering if I could talk you into sneaking me four cups of coffee?"

She still looked confused. "Did they not provide any?"

"I have no idea, but this isn't for me; I'm afraid I lost a hand too many of poker and owe some soldiers payment." A minor lie, he'd been good for every hand he'd lost, but he wasn't about to admit that he was grateful for their unknowing honesty and suspected they'd need the caffeine as much as he did.

The captain looked relieved to have an explanation for Roy's step outside the norm and wasted no time in pulling out four paper cups to fill with the sludge the military called coffee.

"Shouldn'ta gone playing with the troops, General," one of the corporals called, and Roy glanced back to see his tired smile. "Anyone coulda told ya they're brutal with their cards."

"Richard!" his fellow corporal hissed, his eyes going wide.

"A lesson I won't soon forget," Roy agreed, amused. "I swear they were nicer when I was a private, but maybe I just played with nicer players."

"Or worse ones," the chatty corporal suggested, and his partner groaned.

"Or worse ones," Roy agreed, turning back to collect the cups the captain had set on the counter. "Thank you for this, Captain."

"Any time, sir," she said.

"Gentlemen," Roy offered to the two corporals with a nod as he started towards the door.

The more uptight corporal jumped to his feet and hurried ahead to get the door for him. "Did you need help with that, sir?"

"I should be able to manage on my own," Roy said, having no interest in being followed up two cars by this jumpy man, "but I appreciate the offer."

The corporal nodded and held the door opened for Roy, closing it behind him once he was clear.

Juggling the cups and the doors while on a gently rocking train was an adventure, but there were enough soldiers who were awake and willing to get a door for him – rank notwithstanding, you saw another person with four cups in their hands, you opened the door for them – that he managed it without spilling more than a few drops.

The poker game was still going when he returned to them, but the hands were quickly set down when Wright spotted him and his handful.

"There's only four," Omar realised, his cup held tight between his hands and pressed close to his face, as though the mere scent of the military-grade coffee could wake him back up. (Knowing how strong the stuff was, Roy wasn't too certain it _couldn't_.)

Roy shook his head and flapped a careless hand in the direction of his car. "I need to get back before the generals wake up," he explained. "Anyway, the captain back in the rations car mentioned the generals have their own food, figure I'll see if their coffee is any less likely to scour away my stomach lining."

All four of them let out knowing laughs and waved him away, so Roy made his way back to his car.

It didn't take him long to find the compartment with the food. The coffee was the exact same stuff as the regular soldiers got, which made him feel a little bit better about the privilege in not having to hand over a rations slip to get a cup, but the food was far better than the dry ration packs he knew everyone else got, and he sighed to himself as he found a bag of crisps and settled into the open space on a bench to have his snack.

Once he was finished with his crisps and coffee, he slipped back into his own compartment, where Falman and Havoc were both clearly sleeping. Riza cracked a tired eye open as he slid the door closed behind him and murmured, "How's the coffee?"

He offered her a tired smile. "Sludge. How's the bench?"

"Hard." She closed her eyes and shifted her shoulders a bit. "Please don't go out into the regular cars alone again, sir."

Roy sighed and made his way back to his spot next to the window; of course Riza had known he'd left their car, probably could make a guess about what he'd been doing beyond the confines of his rank. "Understood, Colonel."

Riza nodded and, by all appearances, went back to sleep.

Roy turned his attention to the passing countryside and settled in to let his body and mind relax as much as they could for the rest of the trip.

-0-

When they disembarked at North City, Roy and Vickers found two women waiting for them, one smiling widely, the other wearing the stiff expression of a soldier who wasn't looking forward to their assignment but wasn't willing to say so. Roy recognised the smiling woman as Andrea Kozlova, the Stardust Alchemist, and, given the similarity of their faces – the only part of them that could be seen around their northern uniform – judged the displeased woman to be her twin sister, Major Francine Kozlova. He'd known Andrea during the Ishval Extermination, though they hadn't seen much of each other since then, other than Maes' funeral, but he'd only ever heard about Francine from Andrea, who had painted her as 'way too freaking serious, she's going to develop a permanent scowl one of these days, just you see'. The twins were half-Drachman, on their mother's side, which made them a far better guide than Vickers, and Roy was honestly glad to see them, if only because of that.

"General Mustang, Major General Vickers," Francine greeted with a perfect salute.

"Majors Kozlova," Roy returned, and caught Vickers startle out of the corner of his eye; clearly, he'd known as much about who would be meeting them as Roy had, though at least Roy's familiarity with Andrea let him pretend he had known. "Perhaps we can dispense with the formalities and retire to the cars?"

Andrea muffled a laugh while Francine levelled a bland look on Roy. "Is our northern wind too biting for the great Flame Alchemist?" she asked flatly.

"Yes," Roy agreed, allowing a hint of a smile to show through, remembering many times when Andrea had complained about the Ishvalan heat. "I'm afraid some of us are simply better suited for the eastern desert."

"You can _have_ it," Andrea was quick to reply, before turning to her sister. "Come on, Ci-Ci. Let's go before everyone else finishes offloading."

Francine let out a resigned sigh at the nickname – Roy expected that anyone else who tried to use it would have found themselves skewered on the sword she wore – but agreed, "Fine. If you will all follow me?" She turned and led the way from the platform which was, indeed, getting a bit crowded.

Roy let Vickers take the lead, giving himself a chance to glance back over the milling crowd of soldiers. He saw Sabine first, Omar at her shoulder, on the edge of the crowd. They were both staring at him with wide eyes, though Omar's appeared more awed than anything else. He tipped his head in acknowledgement, then fell in behind Vickers' adjunct, a tired-eyed Colonel by the name of Gordon Blenheim.

"Poker friends, Chief?" Havoc murmured, just quiet enough to be kept between Roy and his team.

"Shut up, Jean," Roy sent back just as quietly, and Havoc muffled a laugh.

There were two vehicles awaiting them, and Roy relaxed slightly when Francine directed Vickers and his adjunct into the second vehicle and slipped into the driver's seat herself, leaving Roy and his team with Andrea.

Andrea flashed him a knowing smile, then cast her eye over the group. "The cars aren't that big," she warned. "One of you can go with Francine, or you can squish up a bit in the back."

Roy cast his gaze over his team, and Falman was quick to offer, "I'll ride with Major General Vickers, sir."

"If you're sure," Roy allowed.

Falman gave a sharp nod. "I have a passing acquaintance with Major Kozlova," he offered.

"Right." Roy had actually sort of forgotten that Francine had been stationed at Briggs before the Promised Day. "Good luck, Major."

Falman was too professional to grimace, but Roy knew him well enough that he could see the urge to do so in his eyes. "General," he said to Roy in response, before nodding to Riza with a quiet, "Colonel," and leaving them to settle into the passenger seat of the second car.

Andrea led the way to the first car and Roy made a point of taking the passenger seat before Riza or Havoc could, which earned him a quiet laugh from the latter. Andrea flashed him a grin as she slid into the driver's seat and said, "It's good to see you again, Roy."

"Likewise," Roy agreed as the other two got in and closed their doors. "I hadn't expected to see you or your sister, though it makes sense to involve you two."

Andrea shrugged as she started the car, the heater letting out a blast of frigid air. "I don't think you would have, but Lieutenant General Armstrong insisted Ci-Ci be involved. When we got word that we were going to need two cars and you were one of the generals coming up, she dragged me away from my research and told me you were my job." She flashed him her most troublesome smile. "Told her I was happy to."

Roy snorted, casting a distrustful look towards the heat vent in front of him and wondering how long it would take it to warm up. "I'm afraid I'm only here on business, this time," he offered.

Andrea sighed. "Please stop being responsible on me."

"It's the broad stripe," Havoc offered, leaning forward and tapping Roy's coat-covered shoulder. "Soon as he made brigadier general, he stopped going out every night."

Roy shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder while Andrea laughed. "Sneaking peeks into my date book, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Nah," Havoc returned with a wide grin. "Got a rotation set up to keep tabs on you when you're not in the office."

"Lovely."

Andrea nudged Roy. "Introductions, Roy."

Roy sighed. "Jean Havoc, Andrea Kozlova. And you know Riza."

Andrea's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror and Riza must have made some sort of acknowledgement, because she inclined her head in greeting, then cheerfully agreed, "Yup! It's nice to meet you, Jean. Good to see someone's around to give Roy a bit of good-natured hell."

Roy closed his eyes, resigned to his life. "I should have ridden with Major Kozlova."

"She'd have kicked you out partway up the road," Andrea informed him, sounding far too cheerful about the idea.

"A woman who hates you, Chief?" Havoc commented, his tone dry. "That's a new one."

"Olivier," Roy returned.

"Well, yeah, but I'm pretty sure she's half ice, so I'm not sure she counts."

"Lieutenant General Armstrong?" Andrea clarified, and Roy nodded. She snorted. "Yeah, I'll give you the half ice. Pretty sure Ci-Ci idolises her. Not sure why."

"I can think of a few reasons," Havoc murmured.

There came the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Please try not to put a hole in the car, Colonel," Roy requested. "It's only just starting to get warm in here."

"I'll do my best, sir," Riza agreed evenly, and Havoc started spewing apologies and promises to keep his eyes on Olivier's face.

Andrea shot Roy a half-disbelieving, half-amused look. "I want to work in your office," she decided.

"No, you don't," Roy insisted, and Andrea let out a disbelieving snort. "Your sister might actually murder me if I stole you away to Central."

"Ah, right, there is that."

Roy glanced back to see if Riza had put her gun away – she had – then asked, "What were you studying when Major Kozlova dragged you away?"

The following alchemy discussion got them through the rest of the drive without Riza having to pull out her gun a second time, and helpfully served as a way to keep Havoc from further thoughts of Andrea as a potential bed partner; something about women who could go on about alchemy for hours always seemed to turn him off, said it reminded him too much of the empty space that Ed and Al had left when they'd left for Resembool with no intention to come back to the military after the Promised Day, six years previous. Which Roy understood; there wasn't a single member of his team that didn't miss the Elrics, Roy included, for all that not a one of them would ever wish to see the brothers tied to the military again. At least Al kept in contact, especially now he was back in Amestris, but no one had heard from Ed in four years, and Roy knew that empty space in his office bothered him all the more because of the silence.

As Briggs came into view, Roy leant forward to stare up at it, feeling his expression fall into his best impassive mask. He'd never actually been to the fort before, himself, but Falman had provided an excellent report once Grumman had informed him he would be going, so he had a general idea of what to expect. That said, nothing could ever quite prepare one for the sheer _scale_ of the wall.

"Are the Drachmans here yet?" Roy heard himself ask from a distance.

"If they are, it wasn't called down to North City before the train got in," Andrea replied quietly as she turned onto the thin track leading past a barbed wire fence up towards the fort. "Now, give me quiet until I've parked."

The car was silent as Andrea made her careful way up the track, and it was only because of Falman's report that Roy knew the area to either side of the track was reportedly riddled with mines. He'd honestly expected to have to walk from the road, but it was clear that someone thought himself and Vickers too warm-blooded to survive the walk. (Roy appreciated it. He could have made the walk if he'd had to, but the wounds on his hands would have made them useless for a few hours after, and Havoc would have been stumbling by the time they reached the fort.)

Andrea parked in a small section of cleared dirt, next to three other vehicles. Before any of them could climb out, she warned, "Stay within the cleared areas."

"We were briefed on the dangers," Roy offered.

Andrea glanced towards the other car as Francine pulled into the last cleared space in the lot. "The white-haired man?" she guessed. When Roy nodded, she mused, "I wonder if Vickers got briefed," as she stepped out of the car.

Roy traded a glance with Riza and Havoc; if Vickers hadn't been warned, he suspected Francine wasn't going to remedy that. He sighed and stepped out of the car himself, almost immediately shoving his hands into his armpits as the cold cut through the thin ignition gloves. "I'm demanding a desert posting as soon as we get back," he muttered, and Havoc choked on a laugh, the only one close enough to hear him. "How are you holding up?"

Havoc grimaced and touched the spot on his coat over where Roy knew the homunculus' claws had pierced him. So far as Roy knew, the wound itself didn't bother Havoc when it got cold, but something about lowered temperatures played havoc on the healing alchemy Marcoh had performed, which none of them had realised until they'd been transferred back to Central at the start of the year, during the tail end of winter, and Havoc had only barely made it into the office the first couple days. Roy had eventually figured out that if he put in an order for a car to be sent around for him every morning, Havoc managed much better. In truth, dragging Havoc north probably hadn't been the best idea for the man, but between the comfort of having his people at his back and Havoc's own stubbornness, Roy had done so. "Not stumbling yet," he offered, and Roy nodded in acknowledgement. "You?"

"Wishing I'd brought thicker gloves," Roy admitted, and Havoc shot him a knowing grin.

They joined the rest of the group at the hulking doors that served as the entrance into Briggs, and Roy fell in next to Vickers, their entourage ranging behind them, while the Kozlovas banged on the doors for someone inside to turn the mechanism to open them, which was quickly seen to.

Inside, they found Olivier Armstrong awaiting them. Her mouth turned up with an approving smile when she saw the Kozlovas, which vanished as she turned her attention to the rest of the group. "Mustang," she said by way of greeting, her tone bland. "Hawkeye, Falman."

At Roy's side, Vickers stiffened at the blatant disregard, and Roy couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his voice as he replied, "Armstrong. I'd say it's lovely to see you again, but I'd be lying."

Olivier's eyes glinted with a smile that didn't touch her lips. "Likewise." She cast a quick glance over Vickers, clearly found him lacking, and turned back to Roy. "We got the report from the lookout about five minutes ago that the Drachman convoy is on their way; they should be here within twenty minutes."

Roy nodded, turning his thoughts to the coming negotiations. "Right. How do you feel about having Major Falman act as a guide in your facility?" he asked, because the fastest way to get on Olivier's bad side was to start giving orders in Briggs, and they needed her in a good mood, since the Drachmans had requested that the negotiations be held in the fort.

Olivier cast a sharp look over Roy's shoulder, and he could feel Falman coming to attention behind him. "Stay out of the east wing, floors fourteen through sixteen; negotiations will be held in the mess."

"Understood, sir," Falman agreed.

Olivier nodded to Roy. "He'll do."

Roy allowed a faint smile. "Did you have quarters set up for our party?" he requested.

Olivier looked to Falman again and told him, "West wing, fourteenth floor. Names should be on the doors."

Roy glanced back in time to see Falman's acknowledging nod. "Major, take the lieutenant colonel up to stow cases, then meet us in the mess. Colonel Hawkeye–"

"Major Falman has my personal suitcase," Riza interrupted smoothly.

Roy flashed her a quick fond glance, then turned to Vickers. "Major General, you can keep your things with you, send Colonel Blenheim up with them, or both go up, as you choose."

Vickers' expression was tight, anger a raging fire in his eyes, and Roy expected that, were Olivier not of a higher rank, he would have already laid into her about her conduct. "Blenheim!" he barked, and the colonel at his shoulder came to attention. "Go with General Mustang's men."

"Yes, sir," Blenheim responded, and wasted no time in joining Falman and Havoc in escaping from his boiling superior.

Roy turned to the Kozlovas. "Majors, you're our Drachman experts here–" Vickers cleared his throat, but Roy ignored him "–is there anything in particular we should do to welcome the delegation?"

The sisters traded uncertain looks before Andrea admitted, "I could tell you how to exchange greetings between family members, and I think I remember how to greet neighbours, but I don't know anything about greeting diplomats." She glanced quickly back at Francine, who shook her head, her expression pinched. "Neither of us do."

"Kozlova," Olivier called, and Francine straightened, immediately turning to face her, "what was the first thing you said to me when you joined Briggs?"

Francine glanced to one side, her brow furrowing, before saying, "I believe I asked you why it was so warm in here."

Olivier's eyes glinted, and Roy could already see where this was going. "Please don't force us to negotiate in temperatures that require us to break the ice on our cups every time we want a drink, Lieutenant General."

Andrea laughed. "I don't think it needs to be _quite_ that cold," she offered.

Francine huffed. "The entranceway is a little warm by Drachman standards," she explained, "but no one expects the mess to be equally cold. If we lower the temperature in here a bit, slower increments of warming up, I think they'd appreciate that." She pinned Roy with an assessing look while Olivier called for the changes in temperature and Vickers made a displeased noise. "You actually care about this treaty," Francine murmured, clearly only just realising that.

Roy pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'm tired of people dying for a conflict that should have been laid to rest six years ago."

"Drachma's not your only enemy," Francine pointed out.

"They're the first one to have responded positively to envoys of peace," Roy replied, before allowing a grimace. "Creta sent back our ambassador in pieces."

"That is gross," Andrea announced.

Roy nodded. "Anything else?"

Francine stared at him for another moment, then glanced at Andrea, who widened her eyes comically. Francine sighed and nodded. "Yes. You're going to be tempted to talk to the translator at times, because they're the one who understands you; don't."

"Look at who you're speaking to," Andrea added, meeting and holding Roy's gaze when he looked at her. "In Drachma, when you won't meet someone's eyes while you're speaking to them, it's a sign that you're either weak or lying. If you're checking a fact on a sheet of paper, stop talking while you check, then resume once you're looking up." Then her eyes glinted with mischief and she said, "If you're lucky, they'll send a beautiful woman and you can imagine–"

" _Thank you_ , Andrea," Roy interrupted and she laughed.

"General," one of Olivier's men called from over by a phone next to the hallway that Falman had led Havoc and Blenheim down earlier. Roy, Vickers, and Olivier all looked over, but it was clear the man was speaking to Olivier. "They'll be here shortly."

Olivier gave a quick incline of her head. "Your show, Mustang," she offered, a hint of mocking in her tone.

Roy shook his head. " _Our_ show," he corrected. "This is your fortress, Armstrong; I'm as much a guest as they are."

Approval glinted in Olivier's eyes and she motioned for him to join her as she started off down the hall towards the massive doors leading to the Drachma side of the fortress. "You're learning," she murmured as he fell into step next to her.

"That lesson I already knew," Roy murmured back. "It's learning not to compliment how lovely you look that I'm still working on."

Olivier let out a delicate snort. "I hope they do send a woman," she retorted. "It'll be interesting watching you resist the urge to flirt."

"It's not my fault that I'm naturally charming," Roy insisted, earning him another snort.

" _Mustang_ ," Vickers hissed as they came to a stop a reasonable distance from the Drachma side doors.

Roy turned slightly, so he didn't have to look over the bulky shoulder of his coat, and looked enquiringly at the major general. "Vickers," he responded coolly.

"I came because I am the foremost expert on Drachma–" Vickers started.

"No," Roy interrupted, sharpening his tone, because they didn't really have time for Vickers' wounded ego. "You came because you managed to bully and cajole enough of the brass back in Central to take your side, because none of you like the fact that Armstrong and I took all the credit for dealing with Father and the monstrosities he and the old command created. Armstrong has sat at Briggs' head at least three times as long as you watched the border in the west, and Majors Kozlova have very obvious and far less bloodthirsty ties to Drachma. You are here to observe only, and if you question me while the Drachmans are here, I will have you demoted as soon as we return to Central, am I clear?"

Vickers' mouth snapped shut and he gave a tight nod.

"Good." Roy turned back to face the door. One of the Briggs soldiers was standing at the winch for the doors, clearly waiting for Roy to finish his dressing down before letting in their guests. Roy put on his most charming smile and nodded to the man. "At your leisure, Sergeant Major."

The man grinned, clearly approving, and heaved on the winch. The doors opened, letting in six people from the snowfield, each of them tightly bundled against the cold. About the only part of them visible were their eyes, and Roy felt his own widen as he caught sight of the familiar bright gold eyes of the person in the lead.

"Edward?" he heard himself whisper, and Olivier and Riza both drew in startled breaths beside and behind him.

Those eyes glinted and their owner made quick work of undoing his hood, revealing the rest of his face, including the shit-eating grin that had taken over. "Colonel Bastard!" he called back, and one of the Drachmans behind him let out a choked sound. "You're a surprise," he added, before his eyes swept over the rest of the welcoming committee. "Major General Armstrong, Lieutenant Hawkeye, good to see you both again."

"Fullmetal," Olivier returned drily.

Edward winced just before most of the Drachmans broke out in loud questions, and he quickly turned to respond to them in Drachman.

Roy turned to where Andrea was standing just behind him and off to one side, raising both eyebrows at her in a helpless request for translation. She took a quick step forward and murmured to him, "They had no idea he is the Fullmetal Alchemist. Well, most of them. One, the taller woman–" she pointed towards the group, all of whom had removed just enough of their cold wear to make out faces and genders "–apparently already knew, but didn't tell anyone else. The others aren't happy. That one, the guy with the crooked nose, he's calling Fullmetal a traitor, that he should be shot against a wall somewhere, and the guy with one eye is sort of agreeing with him, but he also thinks Fullmetal should be allowed to–" the woman who had apparently known who Ed was started laughing "–fight for his honour? The woman thinks that's funny."

Roy closed his eyes; how was it that Ed just _attracted_ trouble? "Fullmetal!" he barked, using his best commander voice.

Ed spun on the spot, gold eyes flashing with barely contained anger, and snarled, "That's not my name, bastard!"

Faced with that expression, so familiar, Roy couldn't stop himself from drily suggesting, "We can throw all of you back out into the snow if you need an hour to cool down." And then, acknowledging the reprimand, he added, "Edward."

"Fuck you," was Ed's immediate response.

The woman who had known Ed's second name let out a bright laugh and said, in accented Amestrisan, "I like him. What is he called?" And Roy couldn't help but notice that she had a lovely face, though it was slightly weather-worn, making it hard to judge her age.

"Please don't like him," Ed muttered, and the other woman, who had stayed largely quiet during the arguments, let out a quiet snort. "That's Colonel–"

"General," Roy corrected as he met the woman's dark eyes. "General Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. If I might make introductions?"

The woman's lips curled with a faint smile. She turned to Ed and ordered, "You will translate."

"Da, da," Ed muttered grudgingly before turning to the other Drachmans and quickly explaining who Roy was, and Roy felt his eyebrows raise; who was this woman that she could get Edward Elric to listen to her. (Though, to be fair, Ed had always been far more likely to listen to a woman than a man, in Roy's experience.)

The woman turned back to Roy. "Please."

Roy recalled Francine and Andrea's warning about eye contact just before he turned to motion to each person as he introduced them. He bit back a grimace before offering, "To my right is Lieutenant General Olivier Armstrong, the commander of Fort Briggs; just behind us is Major General Vincent Vickers; to General Armstrong's right is Major Francine Kozlova; to my left is Major Andrea Kozlova, the Stardust Alchemist; and behind her is my adjunct, Colonel Riza Hawkeye."

The woman nodded her thanks before looking between the Kozlovas. "You are from Drachma?" she asked them.

Francine stepped forward. "Our mother was Drachman," she explained. "We were raised by her sister in Amestris."

The woman inclined her head in understanding, glanced between Roy and Francine twice, then settled on Roy to explain, "I am Tsesarevna Anastasia Petrova."

Roy recognised her last name as belonging to the royal family, but it was Andrea who, after letting out a gasp, explained, "She's the crown princess!"

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rehashing a bit of last chapter, since it was cut the middle of a scene. :/  
> This chapter ends at an actual scene break, on the other hand. Small victories.
> 
> Our minor female battering, slurs, and off-screen prisoner torture are all in this chapter. I'd like to say I'll mark it, but it all sort of serves as important plot points – except for the torture, which is why I didn't write that :P – so...sorry? I promise none of these ladies take anything laying down. 

_The woman inclined her head in understanding, glanced between Roy and Francine twice, then settled on Roy to explain, "I am Tsesarevna Anastasia Petrova."_

_Roy recognised her last name as belonging to the royal family, but it was Andrea who, after letting out a gasp, explained, "She's the crown princess!"_

Roy blinked, surprised, and said, "Your Royal Highness." 

Anastasia smiled at him, her eyes glinting with amusement, and said something in Drachman. 

Ed snapped out a sharp response, and Roy couldn't quite hide a smile at the show that Edward was as disrespectful towards royalty as he was to everyone else. (Which he sort of knew; he'd seen Ed with Emperor Ling, but the Xingan man hadn't been the next in line for a throne, then.) "Shut up, bastard." 

Anastasia snorted, bringing Roy's wandering attention back to her. "You are clearly familiar with Ed," she commented. 

"Some of us," Roy agreed drily, before looking around at the Kozlovas and Vickers. "Edward Elric, formerly the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

"Yes," Ed interrupted. " _Formerly_. _**Prezhde**_ ," he added, looking over the Drachmans. He said something else in their language, too, and his tone was as rude as ever. 

" 'As in, not any longer, so you can all just shut up and fuck off'," Andrea translated for Roy, and he had to rub a hand over his mouth to hide a fond smirk. 

Anastasia snapped her fingers and Ed let out an irritated noise, but shut up. Anastasia was quiet as her party formed up around her, then she set about introducing everyone: "To my right is my sister, Tsarevna Natalia Petrova Vorobyova; to her right is Innokenti Kuznetsov, Drachma's formal ambassador to Amestris, should these talks go well; just behind Natalia is Fedor Orlov; and just behind Innokenti is Vadik Lagunov." 

A moment of silence followed as they considered each other across the cold flooring of Briggs. Roy used the time to mark the man with the crooked nose who had suggested having Ed shot as Orlov, and the man with the one eye who had suggested making him fight for his honour as Lagunov. The two men were clearly fighters and, Roy assumed by their positions, were acting as bodyguards for Natalia and the ambassador. Given his knowledge of Ed, he could only assume that the blond was acting as the bodyguard for the crown princess. 

Natalia stepped forward and boldly met Roy's eyes, her own the same dark shade as her sister's, set into a younger, far less weatherworn, face. She said something in Drachman, which Ed quickly translated: " 'I apologise for the behaviour of my countrymen on our arrival. Please don't let their rudeness set the tone for these negotiations.' Even though they're all utter dicks and should be–"

Roy cleared his throat and chanced rudeness to throw a knowing look at Ed, because he could tell when the blond started adding his own commentary. Ed flashed him an unapologetic smile in response. Roy turned back to Natalia and drily offered, "Edward has that effect on people; we won't hold it against any of you." 

Anastasia laughed. 

"Fuck. Off," Ed snapped, before quickly translating Roy's response. 

Natalia smiled and said, very slowly and with a particularly heavy accent, "Yes. It problem for him." 

Ed said something that sounded very much like an insult in Drachman, and Natalia's smile widened; clearly, Ed was a regular feature in the Imperial Court, and no amount of royal titles could curb his familiar defiance. 

Anastasia cleared her throat. "Is there a place where we may sit?" she suggested, looking to Olivier for a response. 

Olivier inclined her head. "We've set up an area in the mess hall for our negotiations, and we have a few floors set aside for your use on the eastern side of the fortress, should you prefer to freshen up first." 

Anastasia turned back to her party and there followed a quick, hushed conversation. Ed received some distrustful looks from the two bodyguards, but Anastasia snapped something at them and they both looked at the ground. Anastasia turned back to Olivier. "We would like a chance to leave our things and, as you say, 'freshen up'. Ed requests that he be allowed to...what is your phrase?" She looked back towards him. 

"Catch up," Ed supplied. 

Anastasia nodded and looked at Olivier again. " 'Catch up' with those among you he is familiar with." 

Olivier nodded. "That's fine. I'll have Major Kozlova show you to the east wing." She motioned Francine forward, and the woman gave a stiff bow before motioning for the Drachmans to follow her. To Ed, Olivier said, "You'll have to ask for an escort if you decide to join them, Elric; I don't trust you to be able to find your way safely in my fort." 

"You know," Ed was quick to retort, "if you hadn't kept us _locked up_ the entire time–"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Olivier interrupted, staring him down. "It sounded suspiciously like you were just thanking me for helping you protect the life of your mechanic by letting Raven and Kimblee believe you hadn't filled me in on Father's plans." 

"Yeah, thanks for the manacle burn." 

Roy managed to hold his tongue until the Drachmans were out of sight down the hallway that led to the lift, but once they were gone, he said, "If I'd known you were coming, I would have called Alphonse up from Rush Valley to join us." Ed winced and Roy felt a victorious smirk curl his mouth. "You haven't told him where you are." 

"It's super hard to keep contact with people when you're staying in a hostile nation," Ed tried. 

"Your brother managed to find people to bring his letters through the desert," Roy pointed out. "And 'hostile' isn't really how I'd describe our relations with Drachma." 

"Can you _not_ be a smug bastard?" Ed complained. "Fuck off, you're not my father, Mustang." 

"Praise be," Roy muttered, and Riza let out a snort as she passed him. 

"Edward," she offered, holding out a hand. "It's good to see you looking well." 

Ed broke out a fond smile and shook Riza's hand. "Thanks, Hawkeye. You too." 

Roy could tell the moment Riza's grip tightened and the smile he knew she was wearing went frosty. "You will be calling your brother and Miss Rockbell before the end of the day." 

Ed winced. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, cowed. 

Olivier let out a sharp noise and Roy looked towards her, finding her casting her eyes over the nearly empty hallway. "Where the hell did that slimeball go?" she snarled. 

" 'Slimeball'?" Ed repeated, even as Roy realised what Olivier already had: Vickers was missing. 

He cast a quick look down towards the doors at the Amestrisan end, but they were barred shut from the inside with a heavy wooden bar, same as the doors out to Drachma. "The delegation," he realised, looking towards the only other possible way that Vickers could have gone. 

"Kozlova, Hawkeye, run down to the lift and see if Vickers is still down there," Olivier ordered, clearly having reached the same conclusion, and the two women ran for the hallway. "Mustang, Elric, with me." 

"Someone explain, right fucking now," Ed ordered even as he fell in next to Roy to follow Olivier through a hidden panel in the wall, which led to a much closer lift that was clearly meant to serve as a way to move artillery and vehicles through the base, for it was massive and didn't have the polite little box around it that lifts intended for use by people had. 

"Major General Vickers," Roy said as they joined Olivier on the lift. "He talked his way into the negotiations and doesn't have permission to be wandering Briggs on his own." 

"And he's missing," Ed finished for him, his eyes hard and his body a line of tension. "If he hurts Anya, I swear I'll rip out his fucking spleen and shove it up his _arse_."

Roy blinked at that as the lift jerked into movement, going far faster than could possibly be safe and leaving Roy's stomach somewhere far below them; as least now he knew what Olivier had been doing with the controls. "Is there something between you and the crown princess, Ed?" 

"Yeah," Ed snapped, "she's my best fucking friend and her father will have my head on a pike if I don't keep her fucking _safe_."

Strangely, Roy's stomach settled back into place before the lift stopped, but he didn't have any time to puzzle over that before they were stepping off into a new grey hallway, which split in three directions a short way down. "Mustang, go right, take the first left and follow that all the way down; Elric, go left and take the first right then follow that all the way down," Olivier ordered. 

Roy didn't wait to see the other two move, instead starting down his designated direction at a quick pace; he didn't actually know why Vickers had vanished, but his mind had jumped first to the worst possible conclusion, and the last thing any of them needed was all-out-war because of whatever agenda a bitter soldier had in mind. 

He knew when he'd passed through into the east wing because there was a sign up declaring the area out-of-bounds to anyone without permission, which Roy only half-saw as he hurried past. 

He almost missed the Drachmans, as they'd all filtered into rooms along the hall he'd been hurrying down. He'd probably have skipped right past them, but he heard Francine – her voice so very like Andrea's – responding to something in halting Drachman, and he nearly skidded, he stopped so fast. He stepped back to the door he'd heard her from and gently knocked before quietly calling, "Major Kozlova." 

The door cracked open and Francine peered out at him, her expression cold. "General," she replied, and it was clear there was a very rude 'What do you want?' tacked silently onto the end. 

"Major General Vickers has vanished," Roy reported, keeping his voice down, and her face darkened; clearly, she was also inclined to think the worst of the missing officer. "Did you see him at all when you brought the delegation up here?" 

"No." Francine looked back into the room and ordered, "Stay in here and don't open this door until I give the all clear, your Royal Highness." Then she stepped out into the hallway, unsheathing her sword as she moved. 

"Princess Anastasia, or Princess Natalia?" Roy requested. 

"Tsesarevna Anastasia," Francine replied tightly. "Kuznetsov and his guard are there–" she pointed at the two doors across the hall "–and Tsarevna Natalia and her guard are further down." 

"Let Kuznetsov and his guard know what's going on," Roy ordered before starting down the hall again, keeping his eyes peeled for signs of habitation under the doors he passed, as well as Vickers. 

He was nearly to a cross hall – he'd passed a few along the way, often catching brief glimpses of Olivier or Ed as they made their ways down the hallways that ran parallel to his – when he heard a woman let out a scream from around the corner. He barely slowed down enough to take the corner safely, hearing Francine's loud boot steps behind him, and took in the scene in a heartbeat: Vickers had grabbed Natalia's upper arm with one hand, while his other was holding his handgun, which was pointed just over the top of her head. 

Roy snapped his fingers, activating his alchemy, aiming to get the gun out of Vickers' hand without discharging it, and the man dropped it with a howl as the skin on the back of his hand blistered. "Let her go," he ordered. 

Rather than letting her go, Vickers yanked Natalia against his chest, wrapping his unburnt hand around her throat, and Roy found himself staring into the terrified brown eyes of the princess while Vickers shouted, "No! You don't know what harlots like this are like, what they do when they come down the mountain passes and flash their pretty little smiles until a man takes them into their tent! Do you have any idea how many of these harlots I cleaned up after?!" 

Roy held out his arm, stopping Francine as she rounded the corner, because her running towards Vickers with her sword was not going to help matters. "Major General Vickers," he warned, "you are holding one of the princesses of Drachma, a guest to our country. Let her go." 

Vickers' hand tightened around Natalia's throat and she let out a quiet choked noise as he raved, "They were guests too! Harlots and murderers, every one of them!" 

"I will kill you, little man," Francine snarled at Roy's side. 

He caught sight of a flash of blond hair just behind Vickers, and he couldn't tell whether it was Ed or Olivier, but he would take either one. He met Natalia's panicked eyes and hoped she could read the promise of safety he was holding within them, even as he coldly stated, "Vickers, let her go now, or I will burn you where you stand." 

"Then burn me!" Vickers shouted. "Burn me and burn her too, Mustang! There's no way you could only hit one of–!" Vickers cut himself off with an anguished shout just before the arm holding Natalia went slack. 

Natalia stumbled away from him, towards Roy, coughing and grabbing for her throat. Roy caught her gently by the shoulders as Francine brushed past them, intent on Vickers. "Princess?" he asked quietly, ducking down to try and catch her eyes. "Tsarevna?" he added, recalling the word Anastasia and Francine had both used to refer to her. 

She let out a choked sob and pushed forward, huddling against his chest. He caught a whispered, "Spasibo" – 'thank you', one of the few Drachman words he knew – and then a murmur of more Drachman as he folded his arms around her in a hug; he'd been around troubled women long enough to know what that particular body language meant, and he could never be so cold as to refuse comfort to someone who had just had her life threatened. 

He glanced past Natalia's dark head to find that Ed had shoved Vickers up against the wall, burnt arm twisted up behind him, blood dripping from a fresh wound in the armpit of his other arm. Olivier, both Kozlovas, and Riza had fanned out around them, and Roy imagined it was Vickers' worst nightmare come to life. By the way Vickers was actively paling, Roy assumed that one of them – he'd guess Olivier – was promising a most horrific future. 

"Tsarevna," Roy murmured, assured that others had the problem contained, and hoping Natalia understood enough Amestrisan for them to communicate a bit, "let's find your sister." 

Natalia gave a rough nod. "Anya," she agreed, using the nickname Ed had used earlier, and allowed Roy to lead her around the hall and...almost directly into Anastasia, who looked to have been standing there for a bit, relief painted across her face, and Roy assumed she'd disregarded Francine's order and come running at her sister's scream. 

"Natalia," Anastasia breathed, reaching out for her sister. Natalia let her fold her into a hug, both of them whispering to each other in Drachman. 

Roy left them to it, stepping smoothly back around the corner and barking, "Colonel, take Vickers so Edward can see to his charges." 

"I am not about to–!" Ed started, turning angry eyes on Roy. 

"This is a matter for the Amestrisan military, of which you are no longer a member, Mr Elric," Roy interrupted. "You are here as–"

"He attacked a Tsarevna of Drachma!" Ed snarled, leaving Vickers for Riza so he could stalk towards Roy. "That makes this an–"

"Do you really want to turn this into an international incident right now?" Roy demanded, and Ed was so close that his words stirred his bangs, and Roy could feel the flare of his anger, like the white-hot heart of a flame standing directly in front of him. "Go. See. To. Your. Charges." 

"Fuck you! I'm not about to let you sweep this–!"

"Ed!" Anastasia called. 

Ed's jaw clenched and he glared at Roy, clearly torn between listening to the princess and continuing his argument with Roy. 

Roy gentled his voice to say, "I am not sweeping anything under the rug, Ed. If Princesses Anastasia and Natalia want to pursue this, that is their right, but this is not the time to be arguing national jurisdiction. You need to trust me to handle Vickers and see to your friend." 

Ed let out a wordless snarl and pushed past Roy, shouting a response in Drachman to the princesses. 

Roy bit back a sigh as he stepped up to where someone had cuffed Vickers and pulled him away from the wall Ed had been shoving him against. "Cells?" he requested of Olivier. 

She nodded, her eyes dark with fury. "Stardust, remain with the Drachmans. Kozlova, Hawkeye, go to the mess and collect Blenheim, then bring him down to the west block prison; have the rest of Mustang's team report to the rooms they've been leant for the moment. Mustang." She jerked her head, motioning that he should take Vickers' other arm so they could march him down to the cells together, while the other three disbanded to follow her orders. 

Olivier waited until Vickers had been tossed into a particularly chilly cell and they'd paced away a bit, before murmuring, "This is not a good way to start peace talks." 

Roy sighed and rubbed at his eyes, finding a twisted sort of comfort in the sparks the motion set across the blackness behind his eyelids. "We can only hope the princesses are willing to consider this an isolated incident. That it was Amestrisans who subdued him should help, I hope." 

"Elric was the one to subdue him, ultimately," Olivier pointed out. "He may be native to Amestris, but his loyalty is clearly to Drachma." 

Roy nodded and allowed a twisted sort of smile. "I always knew he hated the military, but I never expected he'd settle in with one of our greatest enemies as a form of teenage rebellion." 

Olivier glanced at him, one eyebrow raised disbelievingly, but there was a dark humour in her eyes, chasing away the lingering grasp of fury and the faint suggestion of fear. "Teenage rebellion," she repeated flatly. "When you return to Central, I strongly suggest submitting to a mental exam." 

"I'll have Hawkeye put it on my calendar." 

Olivier scoffed, but the tension in her frame was easing back to a more normal level. They heard the sound of the lift at the far end of the hallway, and she asked, "How do you want to handle this?" 

Roy sighed. Interrogation had never been a speciality of his, but he'd received the same training in it as did all officers once they reached colonel, under Bradley's regime. "Vickers has issues with women; we can use that, if you're willing to get in there with him." 

Olivier's expression hardened. "He has nothing to say that I haven't heard a thousand times before." 

Roy could believe that, and he hated that the military was such an unfriendly place towards women, that the _whole of Amestris_ was unfriendly towards women who dared step out of the demure mould it had left for them. "Do you want me as backup, or should I tackle Blenheim?" 

"Blenheim," Olivier said without pause as the man in question, Riza, and Francine came into view down the long hallway. 

Roy nodded, having expected that. "I'd rather not waste medical aid on him, but I would like him capable of walking to the firing line or whatever punishment the Drachmans have in mind for him, should they chose to take him." Because he knew that Olivier was used to interrogating Drachman spies that no one would notice vanishing, and he wasn't fool enough to think he could tell her flat-out no torture, but he could hopefully get her to see it was better if Vickers came out of this alive. 

Olivier cracked her knuckles, her expression turning feral. "I'll see what I can do," she promised, and Roy resigned himself to needing to call the Briggs doctor down by the end of things. 

"Put him in there," Roy ordered once Francine and Riza got close enough, pointing to a cell four down from Vickers. Once Blenheim's cell door was locked, he ordered, "Major, you're with General Armstrong," and the two women walked together down to Vickers' cell, leaving Riza and Roy staring at a shaking Blenheim. 

Roy waited in silence until Vickers let out his first scream, then calmly offered, "Major General Vickers just committed treason. You have two choices, Colonel Blenheim." 

Blenheim turned terrified eyes on him. "I don't know much, but I'll tell you what I do know and my suspicions," he promised, before flinching as Vickers let out a sob that echoed down the hall. 

Roy offered him a smile that wasn't even a little friendly. "Start talking," he ordered, and Blenheim did. 

-0-

"His border camp was attacked by a group of Drachman women," Olivier said when she and Francine joined Roy and Riza. Roy had already called down Briggs' doctor, and she brushed past them all with a wordless nod. 

"His second week out there," Roy agreed, having got the same story from Blenheim. "They won the camp's trust by saying they were a travelling show. Drugged those men they could, killed everyone they couldn't, then robbed the camp and fled back over the border. Vickers spent two months recovering from wounds that almost killed him." 

Olivier gave a too sharp nod, but it was Francine who quietly stated, "He came to distrust women after that. Trauma." She shrugged, her expression showing very well how little she thought of that excuse. "Drachman women he abhors, thinks we're all whores and murderers." 

Roy felt his jaw clench, and it was a force of will to unclench it enough to say, "Blenheim wasn't aware of any plots on Vickers' part to sabotage the negotiations, though he was aware that your–" he nodded to Olivier "–involvement would result in some tension, due to your gender." 

"If the princesses hadn't come, it's likely everything would have gone as planned," Riza murmured. 

"Yes," Olivier agreed, her words as cold and sharp as shattered ice. "I got the impression that he wanted a peace treaty as much as any of us. He wants the camps at the border passes to not have to be constantly on guard." 

Francine shook her head. "Tsesarevna Anastasia is next in line for the Imperial Chair; his mistrust of women would have resulted in a similar incident eventually." 

Olivier let out a disgusted sound and caught Roy's gaze. "You're the one in charge of negotiations; how do you intend to handle this?" 

"We'll tell them the truth," Roy said without having to really think about it. And he knew a large part of his decision was because Edward was sitting on the other side of this incident and would never forgive him if he caught Roy in a lie, but he'd like to think that he would have insisted on telling the princesses the truth even without Ed there. "No sugar-coating it, no trying to make it seem like this wouldn't have caused a problem eventually." He shook his head. "Relations have been poor between our nations for centuries; we'd do no one any favours by pretending an incident like this wasn't a possibility, is _still_ a possibility." 

Something like approval, dark and cruel, glinted in Olivier's eyes. "Kozlova, collect the Drachmans and bring them to the mess; we'll collect Mustang's team on our way up." 

"Yes, sir!" Francine saluted, then hurried away down the hall. 

Roy looked after her for a moment, his mind making some interesting connections about how deferential Francine was to Olivier who, by all reports, was the one to order her transfer to Major General Welrod's command in North City, and idly asked, "Welrod doing anything interesting?" 

Olivier shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Why should I care what Welrod is doing so long as I get my supplies in a timely fashion?" 

Roy smiled as he started down the hall, saying over his shoulder, "I don't know. Why do you?" 

Olivier caught him up after a few steps, Riza falling in politely behind them. "Don't ask how I deploy my troops and I won't ask about yours." 

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about," Roy said, glancing towards Olivier. 

"Let's keep it that way," she replied, returning his gaze. 

The military was a complicated beast, rife with corruption and backstabbing; it was strangely reassuring to know that Olivier was keeping tabs on one of the heads of the monster that Roy couldn't quite keep in his sights from Central. For all that Olivier had never made it a secret that she found him weak, due to his dislike of taking a human life, their alliance during the Promised Day hadn't ended when Edward had struck the final blow against Father, and Olivier – who had no interest in the Führership, had made it clear she much preferred her command at Briggs, where politics never played a part – was a powerful supporter in Roy's own bid for absolute power. (Given, she'd probably try pushing demands through once he took the seat – Grumman had made a couple comments that suggested she was already doing so to him – but Roy was willing to bend to some of her demands in future, in trade for her support now.) 

Collecting Havoc and Falman didn't take long, and they made it to the mess before the Drachmans. 

Falman's original reports of Briggs' mess hall had suggested a massive room, but the place Olivier led them into featured only a table with seats for up to twenty people and a thinner table against the right wall, set with inactive warming plates and empty serving stands; a buffet table, sensible for the uncertain numbers and personal tastes they'd been facing. There was a door built into the far wall – to the kitchen, Roy suspected – and the door they'd entered through, but the room was otherwise as featureless as the rest of Briggs. 

"A new addition," Falman whispered to Roy. "Temporary; we could hear the chatter from the mess earlier." He nodded in the direction of the walls the buffet table and the door were on, suggesting they were new construction. 

Roy nodded. "Thank you, Major." Thin walls meant no secrets, not that he'd expected to be able to keep anything secret in Briggs long; like the military outpost they'd built outside the Ishval capitol's limits with the permission of the elders, the distance from Amestrisan civilisation left little to do with your days but share your life story with your fellow soldiers. It resulted in a close-knit group, which treated newcomers and any attempt by a commanding officer to keep a secret as little better than desert scorpions: fodder for knife games and likely to be chased away with sand and scorn, if not cracked open and exposed to sizzle in the cruel heat of the sun. 

"Falman," Olivier called, "go have the cooks bring through food." 

"Yes, sir," Falman agreed with a stiff salute, before hurrying off to do as he was told. 

Havoc let out a snort of amusement, only to flinch and duck behind Riza when Olivier turned icy eyes on him. "Where are we sitting, Chief?" he requested. 

Roy eyed the room. The conference table bisected the room, with the buffet table running perpendicular. Both walls behind the seats had doors, one to the hallways of Briggs, the other to the mess or the kitchen. Strategically, both sides of the table were equally good for the Amestrisan party, but the side closer to the door that led out to the hallway had the best chance for retreat, for the Drachmans. The nature of the talks suggested Roy give the Drachmans the easy escape route, but familiarity with Edward suggested that wouldn't be an issue, because he never backed down from a fight, and Roy couldn't see him calling someone who would do so herself his best friend. 

Roy settled on the one possibility that all his training screamed at him to avoid: "We let the Drachmans pick." 

Olivier snorted and turned to watch as a line of soldiers in stained aprons and hairnets hurried in through the door to the kitchen, all carrying various serving platters and utensils. Falman brought up the rear, carrying a stack of plates topped with flatware. "Don't dawdle," Olivier ordered, and the Briggs soldiers quickened their pace. 

"Lieutenant General Armstrong and I will sit at the centre," Roy decided, pulling Olivier's attention away from verbally abusing her men. "Majors Kozlova will sit to either side of us, to serve as translators, take some of the strain off Crown Princess Anastasia and Edward–"

"The boss is here?" Havoc whispered, reminding Roy that he and Falman hadn't been there to greet the Drachmans, and the ensuing chaos had kept them out of the loop. 

Roy glanced towards Falman, who was watching with sharp eyes, then Havoc, who was clearly shocked. "Ed is serving as the Drachman party's translator. We'll make time for catching up," he promised, and Havoc and Falman both nodded their understanding. "Colonel Hawkeye, you'll sit next to Stardust, and Lieutenant Colonel Havoc, you'll sit on her other side." He turned to Olivier as his team let out sounds of acknowledgement. "Was your adjunct going to attend?" 

Olivier snorted. "No. Major Kozlova is sufficient." 

Which said a lot about how much Olivier trusted Francine. "Do you object to Major Falman sitting next to Major Kozlova, to balance the table?" 

Olivier glanced towards Falman, who met her stare without flinching, then she turned back to Roy and nodded. "Fine." 

Roy glanced between Falman and Riza. "Did you bring enough supplies for two sets of notes?" 

Riza gave a sharp nod and stepped over to where her papers suitcase had been shoved into a corner, out of the way, and Falman came over to join her. 

"Havoc," Roy murmured as the door to the hallway opened, and the man hurried to his side, "two guards, one with only one eye, the other with a crooked nose; there's tension between them and Ed." 

Havoc's expression, when he straightened, was hard, and he gave a sharp nod of understanding before stepping back behind Roy. 

The Kozlovas led the way in, stepping to either side of the door to allow the Drachman party to pass them. Anastasia was in the lead, Natalia, Ed, Kuznetsov, and then the two bodyguards following in that order. Ed's eyes zeroed in on Havoc, and he flashed a bright grin, but he was the only member of the party who looked anything other than tense. 

"General Mustang, Lieutenant General Armstrong," Anastasia greeted, a tightness to her voice that hadn't been there before making her accent sound clipped. 

"Your Royal Highnesses," Roy replied, because he wasn't secure enough with their titles to try mangling them, not as tense as things had turned out. "Your party may pick which side of the table to sit on, and Briggs has supplied us with food, at your leisure." 

And, surprising absolutely no one, Ed's stomach took that cue to let out a particularly angry noise. Amusement glinted in Anastasia's eyes while a smile broke through Natalia's shuttered mask, and Roy let his own smile curl his mouth. 

Havoc barked out a laugh. "Hey, Boss. Good to see some things never change." 

"Fuck you, Havoc," Ed shot back, but he was still grinning, and the exchange cut nicely through the tension that had started taking up all the space in the room. 

"We will take this side," Anastasia decided, motioning towards the table. "And, in deference to Ed's stomach, food before negotiations." 

Ed said something in Drachman which, by the expression on the ambassador and bodyguards' faces, was expectedly obscene, and everyone moved to lay claim to their seats before turning to the food. 

Roy caught the Kozlovas as they rounded the table, Olivier quick to join him. "Are you both willing to continue playing translators for Lieutenant General Armstrong and myself?" 

The sisters traded looks and Andrea admitted, "We understand Drachman fine, but we are not practised in speaking it." 

"That's sufficient," Olivier said. "If you translate for us, that leaves Elric to translate for the Drachmans." 

"We are happy to serve as translators," Francine decided. "We'll be seated at your sides?" 

"Yes," Olivier agreed, and the sisters both nodded. 

"One last thing," Roy requested before any of them could step away. "Refresh me on the titles for the princesses." 

Francine looked honestly surprised for a moment, leaving it to Andrea to explain, "Tsesarevna is the title for the crown princess; Tsarevna is the title for a daughter or granddaughter of the Tsar who is not next in line for the Imperial Chair." Her mouth twitched with a mischievous smile. "I'll correct you when you mess it up," she promised. 

"Appreciated," Roy returned as drily as he could, and Andrea laughed. "Thank you for your continued assistance, Majors." 

The Kozlovas saluted both him and Olivier, then they separated to collect food. 

It didn't take everyone long to settle around the table with their food. Roy found himself seated across from Anastasia, while Natalia sat across from Olivier, and her bodyguard sat across from Francine. Ed was across from Andrea, Kuznetsov across from Riza, and his bodyguard sat across from Havoc. No one spoke while they ate, though Havoc made the occasional noise like he wanted to, only to be silenced by Riza. 

Once most of them were done – save Ed, who was steadily making his way through his second helping and studiously ignoring the amused glances from Anastasia and Havoc – and their plates had been pushed forward, into the empty space between their parties, Roy cleared his throat and, upon catching Anastasia's gaze, said, "On behalf of Amestris, I would like to apologise for the violence forced upon Tsarevna Natalia at the hands of Major General Vickers." 

Anastasia held his gaze for a long moment, while Ed hurriedly swallowed and translated for the other Drachmans, before she replied, "I would hear this man's reasonings." 

"Vickers is currently confined to a prison cell, as ordered by my fort doctor," Olivier announced, a brace of steel in her voice. She waited until she had Anastasia's gaze before adding, "General Mustang and I questioned him and can give you his excuses." 

Anastasia looked between them, then gave a sharp nod. "I will hear them." 

Olivier motioned to Roy, so he laid out Vickers' reasons as had been given to them. He made a point to hold Anastasia's gaze the whole time, even when he would have looked away to hide the anger he couldn't repress as he recounted Vickers' beliefs in regards to Drachman women. He ended with, "As much as I would prefer to say otherwise, there is a very good chance that similar attacks will occur; our nations have been enemies for too long for a piece of paper to hold sway over tempers, but I do not believe that sufficient reason to hold off on a treaty, should your Royal Highness agree." 

Anastasia waited for Ed to finish translating before letting out a short nod and turning to her sister, Ed, and the ambassador, to have a quiet conference in Drachman. 

Roy glanced at Andrea and she offered him a faint shrug. "I can't hear enough," she murmured, "but I think the only one who wants to walk out the door is the ambassador." 

"Sounds like we're going to have a wonderful time with this ambassador," Roy murmured in response. "Especially if he doesn't speak Amestrisan." 

Andrea's lips twitched with a suppressed smile. "They all understand more than they're letting on," she offered. "You can't see it, because you're too focussed on the Tsesarevna, but both Tsarevna Natalia and Ambassador Kuznetsov show signs of understanding what you're saying before Elric can translate it." 

Roy nodded, filing that fact away, as Anastasia barked out a sharp word in Drachman. 

" 'Enough'," Andrea translated. 

Roy returned his attention to the crown princess, and she said, "We would take this man, this Vickers, back to Drachma to face Imperial punishment." 

"Agreed," Roy returned without missing a beat, and he heard the ambassador draw in a sharp breath; Andrea was right, he understood more Amestrisan than he was letting on. 

Anastasia's eyes narrowed. "You would have the ability to declare the future of another man?" 

Roy folded his hands flat on the table before him, let the familiar sensation of the fabric of his gloves rubbing together soothe his nerves. "While it is true that current Amestrisan military law grants Major General Vickers the right to present his defence before a tribunal of his peers, and Lieutenant General Armstrong and I hardly qualify by ourselves, there is a stipulation put in place for future crimes against those native to Ishval. This stipulation states that, should a crime be committed upon an Ishvalan by a member of the military, and should the victim request the perpetrator be punished in accordance with Ishvalan law, the soldier's commanding officer has the right to grant that request. While you and Tsarevna Natalia are not Ishvalan, the circumstances are similar enough to declare precedent." 

"Who wrote that law?" Ed demanded. 

Roy looked at him, and he could see the knowledge in the gold eyes even as he firmly replied, "I did." 

Approval flashed in Ed's eyes, because he _knew_ , just as Riza had, that Roy had written that law and forced it up through the chain of command to Grumman's desk as part of his attempt to atone for his crimes. It had taken him six months, and the honest appreciation of the elders when he'd explained that addendum to them had been worth every second of frustration; a tribunal of peers might well forgive a soldier his racism, but the Ishvalans never would. 

Anastasia cleared her throat and Roy forced his gaze away from Ed, back to her. She offered him an honest smile. "On behalf of Tsarevna Natalia and Drachma, I accept your apology, and I agree that we must not let small attacks stop us from forming a peace." Then she sighed, her shoulders drooping, and tiredly admitted, "Those bandits who attacked your military camp were tried and imprisoned four years ago for committing similar attacks on Drachman villages along the mountains. We were not aware they ever crossed the border, or we would have given word to Amestris." 

"You wish," Ed muttered. 

Anastasia's mouth tightened. "The last of those women and men died in prison last year." 

"Men?" Francine repeated, surprise in her voice. "Apologies," she added as most of the table turned towards her, "but Major General Vickers reported only women." 

Anastasia nodded. "When we had caught them, they counted three men among their number, who disguised themselves as women." She snorted. "They believed that women were faster trusted than men." 

"They weren't wrong," Roy pointed out, because his information network was made up of women who sold their bodies and received far more than cash in repayment. 

Anastasia seemed to consider that. "And you, General Roy Mustang? You think the same?" 

"In my experience, the most beautiful women are also the most dangerous," he said, and then he put on his most charming smile. 

Ed muttered something under his breath. 

"Rather like," Roy couldn't stop himself from saying, "particularly short alchemists." 

Ed jumped to his feet and shouted, "Say that to my face, you smug bastard!" 

Roy put on an innocent face. "I wasn't aware you qualified, Edward." 

"Edward, sit down," Riza ordered while Havoc started laughing. As Ed settled back in his seat, Riza leant forward, around Andrea, and pinned Roy with a cold look. "Sir," was all she said. 

Roy cleared his throat to get his heart to return to where it belonged. "Understood, Colonel," he replied politely, and Riza sat back in her chair. 

Natalia said something, sounding awed, and Ed laughed before responding. 

"The Tsarevna says that she wants to be like Riza when she grows up," Andrea translated, speaking loud enough that both Riza and Roy could hear, "and Elric says he would, too." 

Roy glanced towards Anastasia and saw the same gleam of fond humour in her eyes that he could feel warming through his chest. He tipped his head towards her and she looked surprised for a moment before she glanced towards his right, at Andrea or Riza, he didn't really know. When she met his gaze again, there was a faint smile curling her mouth. "I believe," she said, "we were here to discuss a treaty?" 

The sense of good humour vanished from the air, and Roy could see Ed straightening out of the corner of his eyes. "Indeed," he agreed. 

The ambassador immediately said something, his tone sharp, and Andrea was quick to translate, " 'Drachma will not treat with a man who wears his greatest weapon to the peace table'." 

"Ah." Roy pulled off his gloves, revealing the ugly scars from Bradley's attack, and slid them past Andrea to Riza, who put them away into her case. "Apologies." 

Ed said something, his tone idle, and Andrea translated, " 'He's still armed, you realise'," and Roy could practically _hear_ the question she wasn't asking. 

Roy sighed. "Yes, thank you, Edward," he muttered before envisioning the array he wanted, clapping his hands together, and touching the fork he'd used, which was resting over the edge of his plate. The light of an active transmutation flared as the fork reshaped under his direction, and he tossed the result to Ed, who caught it with a surprised look. "Keep it." 

Ed glanced down at the figure of Al's old armour, which was hardly perfect, but he offered Roy an honestly grateful smile, and something in Roy's chest did an odd little flip at the sight. "Thanks." 

Roy cleared his throat and turned to the ambassador. "I don't require drawn arrays to use alchemy. Without my gloves I have rather more difficulty using flame alchemy, yes, but I am never defenceless. Is that a problem?" 

Anastasia was the one who translated that. Before the ambassador could respond, she said, "There will be no problem," in Amestrisan, before adding something in Drachman. 

" 'We do not demand the others to disarm'," Andrea murmured, " 'and they have not asked us to do so. You assured my father you could live among alchemists; if you're having a problem now, then you can go back to Drachma'." She took a quiet breath before translating Kuznetsov's response. " 'This is fine, Tsesarevna.' Why are they nervous of you, but not Elric? He can use alchemy by clapping too, right?" Andrea asked. 

Roy blinked and glanced at her. "Edward can't use alchemy any more." He'd thought that was common knowledge, but perhaps Ed and Al vanishing after they were released from hospital had made rumours of the truth. After all, even knowing as much of the truth of that day's events as he did, it was hard to imagine that the Fullmetal Alchemist was literally incapable of performing alchemy. 

"At _all_?" Andrea asked, sounding honestly horrified, and Roy became aware that the others had taken note of their conversation and were watching them. She turned to look at Ed. "But–"

Ed's mouth pressed into a thin line and he tightened his right hand into a fist, the head of the figure Roy had made just barely visible inside it. "There was something more important to me than alchemy," he said, his voice hard. 

"Andrea," Roy interrupted, touching her shoulder. When she turned to him, he shook his head. "Leave it." 

She closed her eyes, swallowed, and gave a jerky nod. "Yes, sir," she whispered. 

Roy glanced at Ed, checking that he was okay, and the blond responded with a vague shrug; he'd resigned himself to the price he'd paid long before he'd activated his final array, but he would appreciate it if they could move on. Roy gave a faint nod, then turned to Anastasia. "As the guests to this table, your party may state your terms first, Tsesarevna." 

Anastasia nodded and looked to her sister. "Natalia." 

The younger princess quickly set about laying down Drachma's terms, the Kozlovas quietly translating, and Roy settled in for a long meeting. 

-0-

It took them almost three hours to hash everything out, but when they settled back in their chairs, they had settled on a passable treaty. 

It hadn't taken long for Roy to realise why the younger princess had come along: When she wasn't being attacked, she wore a quiet smile and spoke gently, but had a core of steel and the determination to agree to peace, but keep the terms fair for her country. She reminded Roy strongly of Al, and with Ed's constant translations as background audio, it was hard to keep from falling back into the familiar banter that he had shared with the brothers and his team. 

Anastasia hadn't spoken much, other than to augment Ed's translations when more than one person on Roy's side of the table spoke up, or when Ed got up to raid the buffet table about halfway through, and Roy suspected she had come more to sign the treaty in her father's name, once they had copies written up, than to serve as his voice in the negotiations. Likewise, the two men Roy assumed were bodyguards had kept quiet, cementing his belief as to their duties for the party. 

The ambassador, Kuznetsov, was clearly uncomfortable speaking to Roy, but when he thought he had a point that Natalia was either ignoring or not being sufficiently demanding about, he was quick to add his five cenz. He often defaulted to speaking to Olivier, and her tone when she responded made it clear that she was not impressed. 

"Colonel Hawkeye, Major Falman, I'd like copies written up as quickly as possible," Roy requested as the two shuffled their stacks of paper into neat piles. 

Riza cleared her throat. "Is a member of your party capable of translating the treaty into Drachman?" she asked Anastasia. 

"I can do it," Ed offered, and Roy raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "Oh, go get fucked, Mustang." 

Oh, Roy was absolutely powerless to resist that one. "Are you offering, Edward?" 

And Ed, completely opposite from Roy's expectations, blushed. It was a very faint hint of colour, easily hidden against the tan that no Drachman winters could erase (apparently), but Roy had spent enough time watching him from across a desk, aiming to get him angry enough that he would flush that exact same way before storming out of his office without asking too many questions about his latest assignment. 

Roy had no idea what Ed read from his expression, but he rushed to his feet and snapped, "Someone point me at a fucking phone so I can call Al." 

Olivier rose smoothly at Roy's side. "I'll show you to the one near your party's rooms. Kozlova, remain with the Drachman party; Falman, remain with Mustang's party," she ordered as she made her way around the table, and Francine and Falman both let out noises of affirmation. "This fort is dangerous; remain with your guides outside of the designated hallways set aside for your parties," she added before stepping from the room, Ed close on her heels. 

They were all quiet for a moment, staring after the two. 

"Right!" Havoc called, getting up. "Did Ed leave anything to eat?" 

"Doubtful," Roy returned drily, and Havoc flashed him a grin as he stepped past him towards the buffet. 

The Drachmans all got up, most of them talking amongst themselves, but Natalia stepped quickly around the table and reached Roy as he got to his feet, swinging his coat around his shoulders as he did so. She said something in Drachman, looking expectant, and all Roy got was Ed's name thrown into the mix. 

"She wants to know what you made for Elric," Andrea translated, getting to her own feet. 

Roy shrugged and picked up the closest piece of cutlery – Olivier's knife – to transmute into another figure of the armour. He held it out to her. "This." 

Natalia took it and turned it over in her hands for a moment, then glanced up and asked another question. 

"She wants to know what it is," Andrea said, before, very haltingly, offering a few words in Drachman. 

Natalia waved a hand at that and offered in her careful Amestrisan, "I know more, also." She touched her ears, then held up the figure and asked, "Dospekhi?" 

" 'Armour?' " Andrea offered. 

Roy nodded. "Yes. His brother, Alphonse, travelled for a time in armour that looked like that." 

" 'The brother he is going to call'," Andrea translated. 

Roy let slip a faint smile. "The only one he has, yes. He doesn't talk about Al?" 

Natalia frowned and glanced towards where Anastasia was talking to Francine and Riza at the end of the table. " 'Not to me'," Andrea translated for her, before stumbling at the same nickname Ed had used for the crown princess, "Ah, th-the Tsesarevna, she might know more." 

Roy nodded. "Edward mentioned they were friends." 

Natalia nodded. "Close," she agreed in Amestrisan, before adding more in Drachman. 

Andrea let out a startled laugh, and when Roy turned to her with a raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "Sorry, Roy. It's–" She snorted, then straightened. "Apparently, Tsar Ivan has been trying to get Elric to marry Tsesarevna Anastasia–" Roy's chest unexpectedly tightened, and he frowned "–but neither of them are amiable." And the tightness vanished. "Roy?" 

Roy shook his head. "I'm sorry," he offered, and his words came out clipped for some reason. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before trying again. "I'm sorry. I think the train ride is catching up to me." Because that was the only possible explanation for his body's weird moods. "Tsarevna, Andrea," he offered with a nod to them both, before stepping away to where Falman was shuffling through his papers. "Major." 

Falman came to attention. "General." It only took him a moment to read whatever Roy hadn't managed to wipe from his expression and he nodded. "I'll see if any of the others are interested in heading for our rooms." 

"Thank you, Major." 

It didn't take long to get a negative from Riza and collect Havoc, who had found a couple of dinner rolls that Ed had missed. He offered one to Roy as they started towards the door out into the hall, and Roy took it with a quiet, "Thank you." 

Havoc waited until they were well on their way to the hall his team had been leant before asking, "What's up?" 

Roy sighed and shook his head. "Shouldn't have played so many games of poker." 

Havoc snorted. "Yeah, okay. It had nothing to do with whatever that woman said, the Drachman." 

"Tsarevna Natalia," Roy supplied, recalling again that Havoc and Falman hadn't, actually, been formerly introduced to their visitors. "She's a princess." 

"Same as the older one?" Havoc guessed. 

"Tsesarevna Anastasia, the crown princess." 

Havoc made a face. "Can we just refer to them as Crown Princess Anastasia and Princess Natalia?" he requested. 

"You're welcome to do so," Roy agreed. "Some of us are willing to use their native titles in the name of diplomacy." 

Havoc sighed and shoved a roll in his mouth. Around it, he muttered, "I like you better when Ed's around." 

Roy shot him a sharp look, but Havoc just responded with a shrug and stepped into the room with his name on the door. 

"Sir," Falman called, motioning to the door across from Riza's, which had a plate with Roy's name written on it at chest height. 

Roy sighed. "Thank you, Vato," he offered honestly, and Falman unwound enough to offer him a faint smile in response. "Please return to the mess to wait for Riza." 

"Yes, sir. Did you want one of us to wake you for dinner in a couple hours?" 

"No," Roy decided, pushing his door open. "If someone brings something back for me and leaves it inside my room, however, I would appreciate it." 

"Sleep well, sir," Falman said by way of response, and left Roy to return to the mess. 

Roy sighed again and waited until the door was closed behind him before looking around at the room. It was lit with the same clinical electric lights as the rest of Briggs, which did nothing for the dull grey of the military standard furniture. It was sufficiently warmed, at least, that he felt safe shucking off both his coat and his military jacket. He tossed them over the back of the sole chair, stopping there long enough to add his butt cape and belt to the top of the pile, before starting for where his suitcase had been left on his bed. 

He hadn't bothered with packing pyjamas, feeling far more comfortable sleeping in part of his uniform while away from home, but he had brought a worn pair of uniform trousers that he could never have got away with at the office, but were comfortable enough to sleep in, and would allow him to keep his current pair from becoming any more rumpled than they'd got on the train. 

He sat down next to the case long enough to pull off his boots, which he sat beside the bed, then he got back to his feet, grimacing at the icy touch of the concrete floor beneath his socked feet, and made quick work of changing into the other pair of trousers. The pair he'd been wearing were added to the pile on the back of the chair and the suitcase was set on the floor next to the bed, against the wall, then Roy climbed under the covers and settled in for whatever amount of sleep his body would allow him.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter of "OMG, Roy, take a fucking _hint_." XD

His dreams were familiar: flashes of red fabric and the gleam of happiness in gold eyes. And when Roy finally pulled himself out of their grasp, he groaned and rubbed angrily at his eyes, allowing himself a quiet, "Fuck." 

The dreams had started after the Promised Day, haunting him with sights that he could no longer see, vivid colours that were so clear, he'd quickly begun to forget that any other colours existed. When Marcoh had given him back his sight, the dreams had all but vanished, coming back to haunt him on the nights bracketing the anniversary, and Roy would stay up as long as he could, avoiding them, because after dreaming in red and gold, the world faded to shades of grey for days, only the colours from his dreams drawing his gaze like a moth to flame. 

He snorted and opened his eyes to stare up at the grey ceiling; he didn't suppose it mattered if he had the dreams here, as grey as Briggs already was. 

_Well, mostly grey,_ Roy mused, still close enough to sleep that he could let himself acknowledge the origin of the colours he dreamed. _Ed can brighten even Briggs' grey halls._

It seemed Ed could do a number of things, including drag those accursed dreams out of whatever hole they usually weathered the year in. 

Roy sighed and dragged himself out of bed, setting about the motions of getting himself ready to face the rest of Briggs. He was unsurprised to discover the familiar blue of his uniform washed out, leaving behind the gold of the braid and the rank markings on his shoulders, and the hints of gold and red hidden among the bars denoting his honours. 

As he'd requested, someone had left food for Roy on a table bolted to the floor, with the transcription from the meeting, a rough copy of the treaty, and his ignition gloves all sat next to the plate. The familiar arrays on the backs of his gloves were the only spot of colour on the whole table, and he grimaced as he set them aside to eat his cold food and look over the treaty. The language was staid enough that he suspected Falman had been the one to type it up – which was fine, it was a diplomatic document, not leisure reading – but it didn't help much with distracting him from the unappetising grey tones of his breakfast. 

The meeting transcription was better reading. It was in Riza's handwriting, and while she'd clearly rewritten it – he knew she took notes in shorthand, which, while he could understand it, it was far from a smooth read – she'd kept in the little symbols that she sometimes drew to denote her amusement or disapproval of something, so it was a little like she was sitting there, reading it to him. He suspected she always left them in the rewritten copies just for him, because she knew how much he hated the dry paperwork that was his life, but he'd not once got her to admit to it one way or the other. 

In all, everything looked to be in order, and Roy quickly stacked the papers into two neat piles, then pulled out his watch to check the time. It was far too late/early to expect his team to be up, but Roy had nothing to do in his borrowed room, so he slipped on his gloves and pulled on his coat, then grabbed the treaty papers and his empty dishes, and stepped out into the hallway. 

"General Mustang, sir," a voice called from down the hall, in the direction that Roy was fairly certain the mess was in. He looked over to see a soldier standing there, saluting, and quickly saluted him back. "I'm Sergeant Vought, sir. Lieutenant General Armstrong ordered a guard rotation in case one of your party required an escort anywhere." 

Roy allowed a faint smile at that. "That is because Lieutenant General Armstrong is far sharper than any of the rest of us." 

Vought grinned, relaxing slightly. "She is indeed, sir." 

Roy raised his plate slightly. "I'd like to return this to the kitchens." 

"Certainly." Vought turned and started down the hall, his pace slow enough that Roy didn't have to rush to catch him up. They paused outside an open room so Vought could wave inside, and Roy saw a group of four men sitting around a table that had once been bolted to the floor, all of them with cards in their hands. "Pass," Vought said, and one of the men let out an irritated sigh before folding his hand and getting up. 

They left the soldiers to their cards, continuing on down the hall. Vought took a slightly different path than Falman had, and Roy couldn't begin to guess why, but when they ended up stepping out into an open-air hallway, he suspected it was a bit of fun at his expense; drag the general out into the cold to really get his blood going. 

Partway down the walkway, Roy's eyes were drawn to a figure dressed in dark brown, leaning against the railing and staring out over the half-cleared path down to North City. 

Vought tensed at Roy's side, and it wasn't until he'd glanced at him, catching sight of the greys of his uniform, that it occurred to him that his colour vision wasn't supposed to be working, not for brown. 

"Edward," he called. 

The figure at the railing tensed, then let out an audible sigh and turned to face them, undoing their hood as they did so and revealing that familiar, rare shade of blond hair. "General," he replied, no inflection to his voice. 

"You're not supposed to leave your hallways unaccompanied!" Vought snapped. "Where is the guard from your hall?" 

Ed's expression turned mutinous, and Roy stepped quickly between the two before something could spontaneously explode. "Sergeant Vought was showing me to the kitchen," he said, raising his dirty plate and cutlery. "You should come in with us, take a look at the treaty draft, if you haven't seen it already." 

Ed's eyes narrowed at him, but he gave a sharp nod. "Fine." 

"Sergeant," Roy requested, motioning for Vought to lead the way. 

Vought stepped quickly past him with a disgruntled, "Sir," and Roy and Ed fell in behind him. 

It was hard not to watch Ed, the largest spot of colour in an otherwise greyscale world, and Roy had to force himself to look forward, to not watch the turn of Ed's mouth as it drooped with a frown. "How is Alphonse?" 

Ed cast him a suspicious look. "Why?" 

Roy sighed. "I'm making conversation, Ed. If you'd prefer, I could chide you for ducking the Briggs soldier on your hall." 

"Fuck off," Ed muttered, rolling his shoulders forward into a slight hunch. "Al's fine. Wasn't happy that I haven't bothered with post or anything. Handed the phone off to Winry and I got an earful." He kicked at the floor, a petulant motion that seemed out-of-place with his older face. "Only way I could talk her out of rushing up here was to promise to come down for a visit." 

Roy nodded. "You're welcome to travel back to Central with us." 

Ed huffed. "And Anya? I can't just _leave_ her. Not with only–" he waved a hand in the direction of the Drachman hall "–Fedor." 

"You don't trust him," Roy assumed as they returned to the partially heated inner halls of the fort. 

Ed shot him a sharp look. "No," he admitted before tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with something knowing. "You're good at reading people; what do you think of him?" 

Roy shrugged. "I haven't paid him much mind." 

Ed snorted. "Don't shit me. You set Havoc to watching him and Vadik for whole meeting, and he and Hawkeye both were watching them during dinner." 

Roy wished he could do something with his hands other than hold the papers and dishes in front of himself, because he felt defenceless like this. Or perhaps he just felt defenceless because Ed was proving that he knew more of Roy's tricks than he'd first thought. "When your companions found out about your former title, Major Kozlova translated some of their comments, and it was clear when Vickers vanished that you didn't trust them to protect the Tsesarevna. I don't trust the lieutenant colonel to take clear notes, and I needed to give him something to do, so I had him observe them." 

"Really," Ed said flatly, as their guide pushed open the door to the main mess hall. "You decided to take the side of the only Amestrisan in a party of Drachmans? That's horrible foreign policy." 

"No," Roy corrected, stopping just outside the door and turning to face Ed, "I decided to take the side of a man I trust, which I have always found to be an excellent personal policy." Ed's eyes went wide, lit a bright shade of gold by the light spilling out of the mess. Roy smiled and nodded towards the mess. "Hungry?" he asked before starting through the open door with a murmured, "Thank you, Sergeant." 

The sergeant touched his shoulder, looking troubled. "Sir, I'm going to have to report him wandering on his own," he warned. 

Roy glanced over his shoulder to where Ed was quickly gathering himself. "I'm aware. I doubt that whoever is watching the east wing had much hope of keeping an eye on him, and Lieutenant General Armstrong did tell him not to roam the halls alone." He shook his head. "The fault lies with Edward, not Briggs." 

Ed snorted from just behind Roy. "Just make sure you pass on that I'm not going to sit politely in a cell this time, if Armstrong decides to shove me in there," he offered, and the sergeant shot Roy a vaguely panicked look. "Oh, also, if you could pass word back to whoever's watching us that I'm stuck in the mess?" 

"Yes," Roy agreed drily, mostly for Vought's sake, "we shouldn't let the Tsesarevna think you've run across whatever lays in wait in the corridors of Briggs for those unwary enough to ignore direct orders to keep with a guide." 

"Shut up and move," Ed snapped, giving a quick shove to Roy's shoulder. 

Roy did so, mostly because they were blocking the door. He led the way towards the tray drop and set his dishes in there, then followed Ed towards where he was already eyeing the offerings and making a face. 

The man behind the counter was giving Ed an uncertain look, but he quickly came to attention when he saw Roy. "General Mustang, sir. We weren't expecting any of your party to be up. We can have food sent over to the room set aside for you." 

Roy shook his head. "I'm fine with coffee. Ed?" 

Ed shook his head and stepped forward to serve himself from the trays. "Fuck you, I don't need specially cooked food. I'm not some poncy-ass general." And he shot a smirk over his shoulder at Roy. 

Roy snorted. "I'm fairly certain, were it just myself visiting, Lieutenant General Armstrong wouldn't have bothered with better food." 

"Yes, we couldn't let Innokenti starve, could we?" Ed retorted, and Roy could see a glint of humour in his eyes as he snatched a couple of burnt sausage links from the heating tray. 

"Only the ambassador?" Roy asked. "What does that say about the fare served at the Imperial Court?" 

"That the head chef is Cretan, full of himself, and has a really fucking disturbing thing for chili powder." 

Roy startled himself with a laugh, and from the quick, vaguely surprised glance Ed shot him, he hadn't expected it either. "I'll be sure to put that in a formal document somewhere," Roy offered. 

Ed grinned at him, his eyes as bright as they'd ever been in Roy's dreams. "Seems an important warning for anyone thinking to serve as Amestris' ambassador to Drachma," he agreed as he led the way to the coffee carafe. 

"Yes, I don't suppose you could count," Roy agreed. "If we were to depend on you as Amestris' ambassador, the treaty would probably fall apart before you made it back to the Imperial Court." 

"Fuck you," Ed muttered, but his eyes were still bright, and the silence that fell between them as they collected their cups of coffee and navigated the mostly-empty tables was companionable. 

Once they'd found a seat, Roy passed the copy of the treaty he'd brought along across the table. "Vato typed it up," he warned, "so it's a bit dry." 

Ed huffed and pulled it over with his right hand, his left managing his fork. "Yeah, it's a diplomatic document. Pretty sure there's a rule that they're supposed to be dry." 

"Government documents in general, I suspect," Roy muttered into his mug, and Ed flashed him a knowing smirk before focussing his attention on the treaty. 

Roy found himself with nothing to do but people watch, and it was far too early to effectively be able to do so. Too, his eyes kept being drawn to the singular spot of colour sitting across from him. Even Ed's food had faint hints of colour, as though the objects he made his own were only vaguely affected by whatever greater power – Roy suspected the accursed Gate, as punishment for his circumventing its original punishment – had seen fit to reduce Roy's colour vision to red and gold. 

"This looks about right," Ed decided, tapping a finger against the last page of the treaty. "As soon as I get my hands on a typewriter, I'll type up a translation and let Innokenti and Natalia at it." 

Roy nodded. "I'll see if you can't use whichever one Vato found." He sat his mostly empty mug down in front of him so he could fold his fingers together in front of his mouth. "How much Amestrisan do they understand? Tsarevna Natalia suggested she was practically fluent." 

Ed tilted his head to one side, his eyes as intelligent as ever. "I spent a year teaching Natalia, before she was married to Dmitry. She's fairly fluent, but she was never very secure with speaking it, and she lost a lot of her skill when she didn't have anyone to converse with. So far as I'm aware, neither Fedor nor Vadik understand more than a handful of basic Amestrisan, but Innokenti..." He took a moment to eat a sausage. "I didn't teach him, but I know the man who did, and he's remarkably fluent for a Drachman. I suspect Innokenti understands at least as much as Natalia, and he should be able to speak enough to make himself easily understood, since Tsar Ivan picked him to serve as the ambassador, but..." He shrugged. "I've never heard him converse in Amestrisan." 

Roy sighed. "We have a couple of people who can speak Drachman by the west border, and there's always the Kozlovas posted in North City, but it's going to be difficult to get any of them to transfer to Central, and there's no way the brass would agree to finding a civilian to serve as an interpreter." 

Ed frowned, his expression strange in a way that Roy couldn't quite decipher. "The alchemist, she's posted in North City?" he asked. 

Roy nodded. "It's always been military policy to have one, non-research State Alchemist posted to each command, with any extras tied to Central. You were something of an exception while I was in East City, but, then again..." He shrugged. 

"We never stayed in one place for long, and I probably counted as a research alchemist, given all my missions were somehow related to our search," Ed offered, shaking his head. "Okay, I get that, but you and she get on so well. I thought she would be posted to Central." 

Roy glanced down at his coffee. "We were friends in Ishval," he admitted quietly. 

Ed shifted. "Ah. And because she's half-Drachman, she was posted to North City after." 

Roy shrugged and glanced up towards Ed. "She requested the posting, said she wanted to be as far away from that hellhole as she could get." Ed winced. "None of us blamed her, Maes, Riza, and I. And her aunt lives in North City, and her sister was posted here, at Briggs, and, yes, she is half-Drachman; three good reasons for her to be the State Alchemist posted in North City." 

Ed wrapped his hands around his mug and took a quick sip, then grimaced before holding it out towards Roy. "Heat this up for me, would you?" 

Roy – who had three mugs back in his office in Central with arrays drawn on the bottom to quickly heat back up the sludge the military called coffee, because what was tolerable while warm, was vile cold – snorted and did so with a murmured, "Don't tell the team; they'll all start expecting me to do it for them." 

Ed flashed him a grateful smile before he took a sip of the steaming coffee. "Yeah, that's pretty much the same reason I told Havoc I didn't know how to heat water without setting it to boil the first time he asked me to reheat his coffee. Gave some excuse about Al not being able to tell how hot something was to keep anyone from asking him next, because you _know_ Al would have been more than willing, and then he'd have told me off for being a shit and refusing." He rolled his eyes. 

Roy folded his hands back in front of his mouth to hide a smile. And a part of him wondered how many times he could get Ed to smile, to turn his eyes that same shade of happy gold that appeared in his dreams, before the blond returned to Drachma. Which then reminded him of Ed's comment about leaving Anastasia to travel back to the Imperial City with only Orlov as a guard, while Ed placated Miss Rockbell by travelling down to Rush Valley. "You know," he said, "should she wish it, Tsesarevna Anastasia is more than welcome to visit in Central City before returning to Drachma. See the accommodations for her country's ambassador." 

Ed narrowed his eyes. "To what purpose?" 

"A middle ground," Roy explained, "if Miss Rockbell is willing to visit you in Central." 

Ed's eyes went wide. "That–" He looked down into his coffee, thoughts flashing lightning-fast behind eyes half-hidden by his bangs as he debated the possibilities. "Tsar Ivan wouldn't like it," he admitted slowly, "but Anya would love the idea, and Natalia will likely want to come along." He shook his head and met Roy's gaze, his eyes hard, even as uncertainty was an unsteady flicker within them. "That attack, the chance that another one might happen, especially while we're travelling, that makes me nervous." 

Roy inclined his head, privately marvelling at how much Ed had matured, to be able to admit his uncertainly so bluntly. "You'll be riding on a military supply train, which only makes stops in the five capitols," he explained. "Our party will have the compartment car, and there will be food set aside in there for us in one of the compartments; the only members of the military who will have access to the Tsesarevna or the Tsarevna will be my team." He didn't need to say that Ed could trust his team, that they would go out of their way to keep the Drachmans safe, because Ed already knew that. Instead, he offered, "I can't sleep on trains, and Riza will wake up at the slightest out-of-place noise." 

Ed's mouth quirked up at one side, his eyes glinting with gratitude. "Seats too hard for your old bones, Mustang?" 

Roy was saved from having to find a response to that by a woman's voice shouting, "Edward Elric!" before continuing to shout in Drachman. 

As Ed winced and slouched slightly in his seat, Roy and everyone else in the mess turned to watch as Tsesarevna Anastasia stormed across the room, a figurative storm cloud raging over her head and her expression twisted with – Roy couldn't help but notice – more concern than actual anger. Beyond her, the soldier who'd probably been the one to lead her to the mess looked a little pale, but was grinning vindictively, and Roy suspected he was the man whom Ed had managed to sneak past. 

By the time Anastasia reached their table, she was clearly beginning to wind down, but Ed still flinched when she suddenly stopped talking and wrapped him in a hug. "You," she said in Amestrisan, "are an idiot." Then she stole his half-full coffee, took a large swallow, made a face, and turned to Roy. "Good morning, General Mustang. I apologise for Edward." 

Roy shrugged. "I'm used to it," he said, and she laughed as she slid into the seat next to Ed, still holding his mug. "I would have been more concerned if he _hadn't_ tried breaking a few rules." 

"Fuck you," was Ed's contribution to the conversation, before he snatched his mug back from Anastasia, grabbed Roy's, and shoved away from the table. 

Roy stared after him for a moment before looking at Anastasia and asking, "How did you train him?" 

She snorted and shook her head. "He only does things for me as an apology." 

"Ah." Roy nodded. "Good. I was beginning to suspect something far more devious." 

There were two specks of gold in Anastasia's left eye, which Roy never would have noticed had he been able to see colours, and they brightened when she smiled, the same way as Ed's eyes did when he was honestly happy, and it erased much of the suggestion of age the harsh weather of her home had left. "Not for this," Anastasia offered cryptically, before her eyes glanced behind Roy, heralding Ed's return with three mugs. "We missed you at dinner," she said as Ed sat and began passing out the fresh mugs. 

Roy wrapped his hands around the warm mug. "Thank you, Edward," he offered to the blond, and Ed let out a grunt in response, taking a long drink of his coffee. To Anastasia, Roy explained, "As I was just telling Ed, I don't sleep well on trains; I decided we would all be better off if I got some sleep in a bed, rather than chance my doing so over dinner." 

"Hawkeye wouldn't have let you fall asleep in your food," Ed offered into his coffee, and his eyes glinted over the rim. 

"No," Roy agreed drily, "she would have made sure I was well on my way to the infirmary before I could sleep." 

Ed broke out in peals of laughter, his whole face lighting up, and Roy hid his responding smile in his coffee. 

Anastasia glanced between them, her expression somewhere between amused and confused, before she requested, "Explain." 

Roy cleared his throat, because Ed was still snickering, and offered, "Colonel Hawkeye finds the easiest way to keep order in my office is by threatening to shoot anyone who steps out of line." 

"Or spends their afternoon cleaning their window for the hundredth time, rather than doing their paperwork," Ed added. 

"Be quiet," Roy ordered, and Ed snickered, while Anastasia's mouth curled into a more honest smile. "The colonel has yet to actually shoot anyone, but we're billed every time we move offices for the bullet holes in the walls." 

Anastasia looked over at Ed. "I am beginning to see why you are so fond of her. Though," she added, her tone turning thoughtful, "it makes me wonder why you never mentioned her." 

"Sure I did." Ed frowned. "Didn't I?" 

"Perhaps once," Anastasia allowed before pinning Roy with sharp eyes. " _You_ I had heard about." 

" _Anya_ ," Ed hissed, and Roy felt his eyebrows raising. 

"Oh?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain neutral. "And you still agreed to sit across from me at the treaty tale?" 

The gold glints in Anastasia's eye seemed to sparkle. "You believe he thinks so little of you?" 

" _Anastasia_ ," Ed snarled, before saying something in Drachman. 

Anastasia turned to him and spoke what was very obviously an order. When Ed replied in the negative, she firmed her voice, repeating her order and adding something else. Ed snarled what Roy suspected was a rude response before getting up and stalking towards the short queue that had developed before the food counter. 

"I told him," Anastasia said, and Roy looked back towards her, "that he owed me food for making me rush out of bed because he had vanished." 

"Ah. And the thing you want to say to me without giving him the chance to interrupt?" 

She offered him a faint, knowing sort of smile. "You think he hates you," she assumed. 

"No," Roy replied honestly, and she looked surprised. "When he was younger, before–" He shrugged, uncertain how much of the events surrounding the Promised Day she knew, and having neither the time nor the inclination to get into it. "I had him on a leash and he knew it, bore it because it served him as much as it did me. When things turned sour, we reached an accord, and I suspect he respects me as much as I always have him." He shook his head and it was a struggle to keep holding her piercing gaze, as aware as Maes' had always been when Roy finally gave in and told him the truth he'd managed to hide from everyone else. "Edward knows me, knows how far I'll go, how little I won't do, for something I want; if he'd known I would be here, he would have warned you off, and rightfully so." 

"You are far harder on yourself than he is," Anastasia murmured, her gaze turning thoughtful. "He said to me, once, that you are ambitious, yes, but always fair. And, after that man attacked Natalia, he said to me – to the both of us – when I said we would be better off returning to the Imperial City, that we should give you a chance, because you would treat with us fairly, as another would not." Her mouth curled with a smile while Roy was left reeling; Edward had advocated for him? "Natalia took his side. She said you are a kind man, and I have always trusted her judgement of people." 

"Kind?" Roy heard himself repeating, feeling a bit like he'd stepped into an alternate universe. 

Anastasia's smile widened. "She was correct, I think." 

Ed dropped a tray in front of Anastasia with a clatter, snapping Roy out of his shock, and fell heavily into his chair across from Roy. "General Bastard," he bit out, sounding irritated, "suggested that you might like to see Central City." 

Anastasia eyed Ed for a moment, then Roy, before looking back at Ed and agreeing, "Yes, but Batya made you swear you would not let me sneak off." 

Roy hid a smile with his mug; he was beginning to see why these two were friends. 

Ed huffed. "You're not sneaking off, you're being invited by a ranking member of the military." He turned a scowl on Roy. "Invite her." 

Roy forced his smile away as he turned to Anastasia, then offered, "Tsesarevna, it would be my pleasure to escort you and your party to Central City. After all," he couldn't resist adding, because he was still a little off kilter, clearly, "we can't have you believing _all_ of Amestris is just a slightly warmer version of Drachma." 

Anastasia laughed. "I think," she said, "I should like to show you the Imperial City. You Amestrisans believe too much that Drachma is as cold and bland as this fortress." 

Roy couldn't help but look to Ed, who snorted into his coffee and lowered it before admitting, "Yeah, it's pretty cold most of the time, but they've got summer up there, too, and the desert borders them on the east, same as it does us. Away from the mountains, it's actually pretty nice. Not the Aerugo coast, but nice enough." 

Roy shook his head. "I've never been to Aerugo, Ed." 

"I'm sure the half-naked women are heart-broken," Ed retorted. 

"Oh?" Roy leant forward over the table, amusement warring with something heavy in his gut. "Did you finally discover–"

"Fuck off," Ed ordered, pink dusting along his cheekbones. "Leave me out of your perversions, you bastard." His eyes took on a decidedly nasty glint and he leant forward across the table himself. "Who am I kidding, all that water? You can't go to the beach, you'd be _useless_."

Roy snorted. "Not any more," he pointed out. 

"Aw, damn." Ed sat back, glancing down at his mug. "I forgot about that. Fuck me." 

"Well–"

"That was not a fucking _offer_!" Ed shouted, and Roy couldn't have kept from laughing to save his life. 

Anastasia let out a laugh of her own, then said something in Drachman. Ed turned such a bright red, Roy couldn't help but wonder if his face would have matched his old coat, then snarled something back at her in the same language before jumping to his feet and grabbing the treaty. "I am going to hunt down a typewriter," he snapped and stalked off. 

Roy raised his eyebrows at Anastasia and she offered a knowing smile before asking, "This offer to come to Central City, it is to do with Ed's promise to his mechanic?" 

Roy shrugged. "He seemed discontent to allow you and your sister to travel back to the Imperial City with only one guard." 

"That is a very pretty way to say he and Fedor despise each other," Anastasia retorted. When Roy raised an eyebrow at her in a silent inquiry for an explanation, since Ed had dodged it earlier, she sighed and wiggled her fork at him in a very un-princessly fashion. "Ed and Fedor met in a brawl in the lower Imperial City, on opposite sides." She snorted. "Well, in truth, everyone was on the opposite side from Ed." 

"Yes," Roy offered drily, "that happens to him a lot. I expect he won." 

The gold specks in her eye fairly sparkled. "Yes. Fedor was unlucky enough to meet Ed's left foot–" Roy couldn't stop a wince "–and spent a month in hospital. When they met again, not quite a week after, it was to find Ed and myself...arguing." 

"He was being insulting, Orlov took offence, Ed put him back in hospital," Roy guessed, and Anastasia laughed. "That also happens to him a lot." 

Anastasia shook her head. "Fedor was most displeased to discover that Ed was Amestrisan. He had attempted to get my father to ban Ed from the Imperial Court, which I would not allow, then tried courting me, in hopes that sharing my bed would give him power over my choices, I believe." 

Roy closed his eyes, seeing where this would end, and understanding a bit better why Ed didn't want to send the princesses back home with only Orlov as a guard. "Ed put him in hospital again, didn't he?" 

"Ed broke his nose, gave him two bruised eyes, and kicked him between the legs. With his left foot." 

Roy rubbed at his eyes, extremely glad that he was no longer Ed's commanding officer, because that was one international incident that he wanted absolutely zero part in. "Of course he did." 

Anastasia snorted. "Yes. He has provided a similar service to other of my courters that he did not approve of. I gave up ordering him to stop the third time." 

"Edward is very...passionate about protecting those he cares for," Roy managed, finally opening his eyes again. "And orders tend to sound more like suggestions to him." 

Anastasia was watching him, her lips curled with a smile. "I had noticed," she agreed before waving her fork at him again. "The mechanic, Winry, we will meet her?" 

"Very likely," Roy agreed. "And Alphonse." 

"Good," Anastasia decided. "Then I will have met the three people Ed always speaks of." Her smile widened. 

It took Roy a minute, but he recalled her earlier comment and got her implication: Ed spoke often of Al, Miss Rockbell, and Roy himself. 

He cleared his throat, uncertain how to respond to that. "If you're coming to Central City, we should have the treaty signing there, with Führer Grumman." 

Anastasia considered that. "Your Führer, he is a good man? Do you respect him?" 

Roy folded his fingers together. "I've worked under Führer Grumman for most of my career," he offered, "and I've always found him to be an excellent commander, if slightly extravagant, but, yes, I respect him." 

"Extravagant how?" Anastasia asked. 

Roy felt his mouth twitch and quashed it because he wasn't certain if it was more likely to turn into a smile or a grimace. "When I used back channels to request he meet me during certain events, he dressed as an elderly woman to do so. From what his son-in-law, who taught me alchemy, said, outrageous disguises are something of a habit of his." 

"You know him personally, then?" 

Roy shrugged. "I didn't meet him until after I'd enlisted, so it's difficult to say how personally I know him, but it was my aunt who got me in contact with him, and Colonel Hawkeye is his granddaughter." 

Anastasia's eyebrows raised. "Your second?" Roy nodded, taking a sip of the last of his cold coffee. "That is a powerful alliance." 

"Perhaps, but not one I've ever actively used, and not one that most people are aware of." He sighed and shook his head. "Under our previous Führer, it wasn't uncommon to erase any records of your family, to keep them safe, especially if you had an eye on his seat. For some of us, that still holds true; it's a hard habit to break, protecting the people you love." 

"And for you?" Anastasia asked, watching him with that too-sharp gaze. "Who are those people you protect with silence?" 

Roy considered lying – it really was a hard habit to break, especially with the reminder of Bradley stripping his team from him, using them as hostages to ensure his good behaviour, standing as a grim spectre over his shoulder – but he'd already given in to her once, so he took a quick glance around them, checking that the Briggs soldiers had maintained a respectful distance from their table, and admitted, "My aunt and my goddaughter." 

"God...daughter?" Anastasia repeated, clearly unfamiliar with the word. 

Roy frowned, trying to find the best way to explain the concept. "It's a holdover from the religion that dominated the region where Central City currently is, before it became a part of Amestris. It gives someone who is a friend of the parents, but not blood related, a claim to the child if both parents should die. After my best friend died, his widow hunted down the specifics and talked me into it. She didn't want Elicia to be left alone if something happened to her." 

"Elicia Hughes?" Anastasia asked. 

Roy smiled, somehow unsurprised that Ed would have mentioned her. "Yes." 

Anastasia offered a smile that was somehow sad. "Ed uses pictures of her as place markers in his travel journals. She looks like a happy child, but he always looks so heartbroken when he looks at them. I got him to tell me her name, but nothing else; I was afraid she was dead." 

"No," Roy was quick to assure her. "Far from it; she and her mother live in Central, if you'd like to meet them?" 

"I would love to," Anastasia agreed. "But... You say her father, he died? Is that why Ed–?"

"Edward and Alphonse blame themselves for his death," Roy admitted, and it hurt to get the words out, because they weren't the only ones; if Roy hadn't asked Maes to keep an eye on the boys while they were in Central, if he'd come to Elicia's birthday party like Maes had always begged, a thousand 'if's. Gracia had looked like she'd wanted to smack him when he'd apologised to her, but, instead, she'd said that the best way for him to atone, if he really felt he was at fault, was to do everything he possibly could for Elicia, so he had, would always do. He hadn't missed a birthday yet, and he'd spent his years in Ishval driving to Resembool every Sunday to use a phone, checking in so Elicia knew he was still okay and listening to her rattle on about every little thing for hours. 

"This blame, it is something you share," Anastasia guessed. 

Roy sighed and shrugged. "A surprising number of people blame themselves for Maes' death. In the end, the one who killed him took his own life." 

Anastasia nodded. "Thank you," she said, and Roy shot her a confused glance. "For explaining. Ed...how do I say this? He has always seemed, to me, to smile so he would not cry. I have seen the darkness in his eyes, when he wanders for fear of what comes in dreams, but he holds close those hurts. I can push, and sometimes he will tell me things, little ones that do not hurt him as much, I think, but never the ones that weigh him down. Never how he lost his leg, or that he was ever an alchemist, why he is not now." She sighed. "I have one last question for you." 

Roy hid a frown behind his fingers, woven together so tightly they hurt. "You can ask, but I can't promise to answer," he allowed. 

She smiled at him, for that, and the gold in her dark eye glinted with approval. "You are not attached? Not married?" 

Roy blinked. "Why? Were you interested?" He shot her his most charming smile, hiding his discomfort behind it. 

She snorted. "I do not think Ed would forgive either of us–"

Roy winced. "Excellent point." 

"–though you are a far better sort than my usual courters." 

Roy stared at her for a moment, then snorted and leant back from the table. "It must be a low bar." 

"It is a different bar, I think," Anastasia mused. "You have not the need to marry me for the power you would seek. For too many of my people, I am a prize to be won, the way to my father's throne." 

"They think, because you're female, you're little better than a tool," Roy murmured, because he knew those sorts of men, met them too often in the military, especially with a female adjunct. He sighed. "I begin to understand why Ed took to kicking so many of your suitors." 

" 'Suitors'?" 

"What you've been calling 'courters'." 

Anastasia nodded, and he could see her filing that word away into her mental dictionary. "Yes," she agreed. "It does not stop all of them, but it works on many, and serves as a deterrent for many others." She sighed and stood from the table. "Will you walk with me? I should like to see the top of this fortress, but I do not think it will be allowed with only one soldier as accompaniment." 

"Certainly," Roy agreed as he collected all of their dishes to leave in the tray drop. "I, too, have a vague interest in seeing the battlements." 

"Battlements," Anastasia repeated quietly, and Roy suspected he would be serving as a translator of military terminology for so long as he remained in her company. Which...wasn't as daunting a concept to him now as it might have been before sharing breakfast with her. 

Anastasia walked with him to the tray drop without complaint, then out into the hall, where two soldiers – both privates – awaited them. They saluted Roy crispy, and Roy returned the salute before requesting, "Tsesarevna Anastasia and I were wondering if we might walk along the battlements." 

The two men traded uncertain looks, before the one on the right said, "I...don't think it would be a problem for you, General, but–"

"I will take full responsibility for the Tsesarevna," Roy offered, before adding, "If she's awake, we're willing to enquire of Lieutenant General Armstrong." 

"There's a phone around the corner," the private on the left said, before hurrying off. 

It didn't take them long to get permission, though the private's expression when he relayed the okay suggested that Olivier had been rather more longwinded than the private had passed on, and Roy could only assume his libido had been brought into it, and his sense questioned; he didn't mind, actually suspected that Olivier knew his reputation was half fabrication, half stretching the truth, given the good-natured ribbing on his arrival. 

Both privates came with as escorts, and they suffered a vaguely uncomfortable silence in the lift to the top of Briggs. Once up there, Roy grimaced at the bite of the wind and wrapped his coat a little tighter around himself before shoving his hands into the pockets. Anastasia looked in her element, in the chill, and Roy caught himself smiling in spite of himself as the first thing she did was hurry over to the northern-facing wall to look over the Drachman side of the border. 

"This is an impressive construction," she said once Roy had joined her. "We do not build things so tall in Drachma, so we have none of these views." 

Roy leant against the cold stone, looking down on the small shapes of the vehicles the Drachman party had ridden to Briggs. "This is the tallest human-built structure in Amestris," he offered. "Central Command is the next tallest, I'm fairly certain, though the compound itself sits on top of a base that's ten storeys, so it's difficult to judge." 

Anastasia glanced over at him curiously. "What use is a base that high?" 

"The car park is in there," Roy replied carefully. 

Anastasia shook her head. "Just the car park?" 

"No." Roy pushed away from the wall, having as much interest in discussing the dark secrets of Amestris that had been laid bare on the Promised Day up here, as he had in the mess. "It's clear enough; we may be able to see North City," he commented, starting towards the southern side of the wall. 

Anastasia joined him after a moment, looking along the track to the road, and along that to the hints of chimney smoke and the tops of the tallest buildings. "I asked after Amestrisan secrets," she assumed. 

"No," Roy admitted quietly, staring into the shades of grey laid out before him and wishing for a hint of colour; he had thought this would be easier in Briggs, with the grey walls, but it wasn't, not with Ed teasing him with his splash of colour. "You asked after the darkness Ed keeps to himself." 

She sighed and stepped back from the wall. "Walk with me," she requested. 

Roy followed her lead with a murmured, "Of course," desperate to leave behind those shadows and wishing he could do the same with his colour-blindness. 

They were both quiet for a few steps, their escort trailing at a polite distance. Eventually, Anastasia began to speak, her voice pitched quiet enough to stay between them, despite the howl of the mountain wind: "When Ed and I first met, I was pretending to be normal, a person of the lower streets in the Imperial City, where they do not know the faces of the Tsarevnas, and we became friends without him being aware who I was. After I learned that Ed had known who I was for many months and never changed how he treated me, I thought 'I have found the man to marry'–"

Roy cleared his throat, discomfort writhing in his stomach; as interested as he was in learning about the four years Ed had spent outside of Amestris' borders, he didn't have any interest in his romantic exploits. "I think, Tsesarevna, that–"

"You will remain, and you will listen, General Roy Mustang," Anastasia ordered, and _there_ was the heir to the Drachman Empire, used to being obeyed and afraid of no man; Roy swallowed and resigned himself to the uncomfortable conversation. She eyed him for a moment, as though making sure he wasn't about to follow his better sense and run for it, before continuing, "I had thought he would be perfect. He did not care about my gender or my station, he did not care one way or the other about the power that he would have the right to at my side. He was nothing like the suitors that so often came asking after me. 

"My father had disliked him, then, found him disrespectful and hovered too often on the cusp of ordering Ed from the city." Roy knew he should smile here, because that was very like Ed, but he couldn't dredge up a smile under the layer of discomfort. "That was the only reason I did not ask Ed to be more than my friend. I had thought, once Batya learned to see past his rudeness, then I would ask Ed. But..." She shook her head, and Roy glanced towards her, curious in spite of himself. "The longer Ed stayed in the palace, the more he deigned to tell me stories of his travels, of the people who made him, and the more I realised that were I to ask him to marry me, he would, because he is a good man, but he could never love me, not the way a husband is supposed to love a wife; his heart had already been set on another." 

"Miss Rockbell," Roy murmured, studiously ignoring the taste of ash her name left on his tongue. 

Anastasia nodded, then shook her head. "That was my thought too, for there was love in his eyes when he spoke of her, but I realised that it is the same love as he has for his brother. He told me–" she turned her eyes up towards the sky, and her words weren't much more that a whisper "–that when he left her this last time, that he had asked her to marry him, and she agreed." 

Roy almost stopped, the burn on his side making it hard to breathe, and his eyes burned in the wind. "Did he," he heard himself say, and his voice was flat, too flat; what was _wrong_ with him? 

"He had said it was a mistake," Anastasia offered, her voice gentle, and the ache of Roy's side eased. "I think, at first, that was why he did not find a way to contact her, why he kept travelling when he could have returned to Amestris, because he could not face her, could not say, 'I made a mistake, I should not have asked that of you'. But, eventually, he came to me, and he found..." She snorted, shaking her head. "I did not realise it at first, he found in me someone familiar, someone on the cusp of power, yet faced with such odds, such opposition. He gravitates towards power, I think, not because he craves it, but because he wishes to make it good." She looked over at him, a smile curving her mouth. "There is something disheartening, being the first female heir to a throne, and there were times when it seemed too much, when I thought I should marry just so people would stop talking, would look at my husband instead of me. But Ed–"

"Pushes you to be better," Roy murmured, remembering a promise made over pocket change, and a moment in a dark tunnel, when revenge clouded his mind. "He refuses to stand back and watch you make the worst mistakes." 

"Yes. He dragged me to meet the people who needed a strong leader, who needed someone who was not just a figurehead. He showed to me, in all the ways he could, that my future is worth fighting for. And I–" She sighed, shook her head, and stopped to stare up at the grey, grey sky, Roy stopping beside her. "There is such darkness, such sorrow, in him, and I cannot ever hope to touch it, to know more than a glance. I could ask him to marry me, but it would only kill him, I think, in the end. But you–" she turned her stare on Roy, the gold glints reflecting sunlight like pinpoints of fire "–you live with that same darkness, speak between you both a thousand words in silences and insults." 

Roy swallowed, shook his head, turned away from that hint of a familiar colour in her eyes, back towards the grey of the battlements and the sky. "What does that–"

"I told you, did I not? There are three people Ed speaks most of. Two are like siblings to him, and the last–"

A finger pushed hard against Roy's chest, and he looked back into those too-knowing eyes and their specks of gold. 

"–is the person he loves." 

"You must be–" Roy tried, the words scraping along his throat and tongue on the way up. 

"I do not lie," Anastasia interrupted, her voice firm. "I _would not_ lie, and I am not mistaken. I have known Edward Elric two years, and never have I seen him so full of life, so full of smiles, as when he sits across from you at a table and you insult each other. He is happy here, with you, in a way I have not ever seen in him." 

"It's not–"

"It is. I told no lie, that you were missed at dinner. You might ask your people. That blond man, Havoc, he commented on it, on how Ed was more fun when you were there." 

_'I like you better when Ed's around,'_ Havoc had told him after the meeting, when Roy had escaped to his room. 

"He loves you," Anastasia repeated, as though she believed that, the more she said it, the more likely Roy was to believe her. "And you, I would not have told, if you did not feel the same." She tilted her head as the breath caught in Roy's chest. "Do you deny this also?" 

Every time his body had betrayed him at the hint that Ed could have belonged to someone else, the colours of his dreams, the way only Ed could all unknowingly deny his colour-blindness, shading even his food in colours. And, too, his own disinclination to find a bedmate since the Promised Day, the dozen little excuses – his scars, Ishval coming first, and so on – that had sounded hollow even as he'd made them to himself. "No," he whispered, and the wind swallowed the admittance. 

Anastasia nodded, as though she had never once doubted it. "You will tell him. You will give him a reason to stay." 

The smile that curled Roy's mouth was not a happy one, because he _knew_ Ed. "No," he said, and when Anastasia's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to, no doubt, say something scathing, Roy continued, "Ed doesn't stay, and I won't be the thing to tie him down." 

She swallowed and stared at him for a moment. "No," she agreed at last, the wind tugging hard at her words, "but you can give him a reason to come home." Then she stepped forward, into Roy's space, and shoved a finger hard against his chest, over his heart, and he almost stumbled with the force of it. "You will tell him, or I will sign nothing." 

"You would–" Roy started, shocked. 

"I would start a hundred wars for his happiness," Anastasia declared. "He will never do it himself, so I must fight for him, the way he has fought for me. He is my greatest friend, and I would pull the world open–"

" _Don't_ ," Roy snapped, grabbing her wrist and staring into startled eyes. "To you, those are just words, but to him, they are nightmares. Ed won't thank you for pointless death, would be horrified to hear that you would go so far for him, because, to him, there is nothing so precious as a life. I'll talk to him, but if you want him happy, all you need to do is sign that treaty." He let her go and stepped back, looked at the inkling of horrified understanding that was starting to bloom in her eyes and tried a smile that felt like it was cracking at the edges. "I'm afraid this is about as much of the cold as I can take. If you'll come back inside with me, Tsesarevna?" 

"Yes," she agreed faintly, and followed Roy as he led the way back inside. 

The ride back down in the lift was heavy with silence, and Anastasia spent the entirety of it staring at the ground, her face half hidden behind the collar of her coat. 

As they stepped back out onto the fourteenth floor, Roy pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. "I'd like to try and find my team, if any of them are awake," he said to their escort, before turning to Anastasia. "Tsesarevna?" 

She looked up, then, and there was a fire in her eyes that reminded him startlingly of Ed. She held out a hand. "Anya," she said. 

Roy blinked, confused. "I don't–"

"My friends call me Anya," she explained, raising her hand a bit higher. 

Roy got it, then, and took her hand with a faint smile. "Roy. It's nice to meet you, Anya." 

She smiled back at him, and there was a sadness in her eyes, barely visible to his greyscale vision, but there was happiness there, too, which was much clearer. "Likewise, Roy," she agreed before pulling away and turning towards the east wing. "I must tell my party that we will be travelling to your Central City together." 

Roy nodded, then motioned for his escort to show the way to the mess, leaving Anastasia and her escort to head in the other direction. 

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah~ I'm so glad people like Anya!! :D
> 
> Not sure how I feel about Ed and Roy's little get together scene, after a reread, but I'm kind of too lazy to try and figure out how to rewrite it, so... This is what you get. (Related: I've mentioned, I'm sure, that these two boys are fucking idiots. *rolls eyes*) 

He found Riza in the smaller mess set aside for them, huddled over a mug of coffee. She straightened when he stepped through the door, took a quick look at him, and raised both of her eyebrows. "You've been outside, sir?" 

Roy gave a careless roll of his shoulders and walked over to the carafe for some coffee. "Tsesarevna Anastasia wanted to see the battlements, and I agreed to accompany her to ease any of Lieutenant General Armstrong's concerns." 

Riza let out a thoughtful hum. "I see." Her mug tapped once as she returned it to the table, and Roy glanced back to see her staring towards the door to the hall, which had been left open. "I saw Edward as I left my room. The major had apparently agreed to let him borrow the typewriter he hadn't got around to returning. I expect he won't bother to move it far." 

Roy nodded. "We'll be returning to Central sooner than expected," he offered, tapping his left leg in an idle motion. "The Tsesarevna gracefully accepted my invitation to see our capital." 

"Understood. I'll see when the next supply train is, and let the Führer's office know." 

"Thank you, Colonel. I'll go see if I need to call Miss Rockbell for Ed," he said before starting for the door, bracing his hands around his mug, in case his current escort wanted to take him outside again. 

"Try not to distract him too much, sir; just because you don't have paperwork right now doesn't mean he's free." 

"Noted," Roy called back as he stepped into the hall. "West wing, please, Private," he said to his escort, and the man saluted him before leading the way. 

Roy checked in on Havoc first, opening the door just enough to peek in when he got no answer to his knock. He found Havoc sitting on the edge of his bed in his undergarments, only appearing to be half-awake. "Chief," he mumbled, blinking blearily in the direction of the door. 

Roy shook his head and stepped towards the bed, holding out his half-drank mug of coffee. "I've had more than enough of this," he declared. "Drink it, go get some food, then report back to me." 

"You're the best, sir!" Havoc called after him as Roy stepped from his room, and Roy let out a quiet snort. 

He knocked at Falman's door next, and the major was quick to open his door. "General," he offered. 

Roy inclined his head. "Colonel Hawkeye is currently calling about the next supply train and we'll be heading back to Central at the earliest opportunity with the Drachmans; Tsesarevna Anastasia had an interest in sightseeing." 

Falman blinked. "I see you had a productive morning, sir." 

"Somehow," Roy agreed. "The colonel said Edward was down here about the typewriter?" 

Falman gave a sharp nod. "He was. He took it and left, but I believe he's still on the hall somewhere; I heard a door close not long after he'd left, and as it was unlikely to be either the colonel returning or the lieutenant colonel leaving, I assumed it to be either yourself or Edward." 

Roy allowed a faint smile. "Good. Have you eaten yet?" 

"No, sir." 

"See if you can't finish dragging Lieutenant Colonel Havoc out of bed, then head down to the mess." 

"Yes, sir." 

Roy left Falman to it, turning to consider the doors on their hallway. A quick test of the one nearest Falman's room, which didn't have a name plate on it, showed the door to be locked, and while Roy suspected Ed was more than capable of learning how to pick locks, he doubted he'd bother doing so when his hands were full of a typewriter, which left Riza's room, and his own. 

Roy gave himself a second to debate his options, then shook his head and pushed quietly into his loaned room. 

The sound of typewriter keys being hit rhythmically reached his ears, and Roy quietly closed the door behind himself as he took in the sight of Ed sat on his bed, his real leg folded up under him while the automail one hung over the edge of the bed. His coat had been thrown over the trousers that Roy had slept in, on the back of the chair, leaving him in a dark brown jumper and black trousers. He'd borrowed Roy's suitcase to use as a base for the typewriter, and had spread the copy of the treaty out over the made bed next to it. 

Ed's hands paused, his eyes staring firmly at the typewriter. "That took longer than I expected," he said, tone bland, and Roy remembered how he'd gone red at whatever Anastasia had said to him, before making a quick escape; Ed had known that leaving Roy alone with the Tsesarevna would result in that conversation. 

"I was cross-examined and dragged to the battlements," Roy returned in the same tone. "I suspect the wrong answer would have seen me thrown over the edge." 

"Possibly," Ed agreed, flexing his fingers. "What was your answer?" 

Roy debated how best to answer that as he pulled off his gloves and shoved them in his coat pockets, then tossed the coat on top of Ed's. "In slightly more words than I gave the Tsesarevna," he settled on, "every time someone has suggested that you might have become romantically attached sometime over the past six years, I found it hard to breathe." He looked up and met the startled gold eyes that were finally looking at him. "I see two small problems." 

Ed tensed. " _What_?" he practically snarled. 

Roy offered a faint smile. "Riza suggested something grievous might occur if I distracted you, and there seems to be a typewriter and paper in the way." 

Amusement glinted in Ed's eyes as they warmed with something close to fondness. "You wouldn't want to upset the colonel," he pointed out. 

"Not particularly," Roy agreed as he stepped up to the side of the bed. "Though she did suggest I could distract you a little bit, if I had to," he added, leaning forward. 

Ed met him halfway, crashing his mouth against Roy's in a hungry, desperate manner that completely threw all suggestions of decorum off the battlements. It was hot and slick and addictive; nothing at all like the controlled kisses that Roy had so often shared with lovers over the years. Hands grabbed for his shoulders, one catching around the braid of his uniform, and yanked him closer. Roy barely had the presence of mind to catch himself with the hand that hadn't somehow ended up between Ed's hair band and his scalp, threaded through gold strands. 

Roy pulled away when he couldn't hold his breath any longer, lips feeling bruised and both of them gasping for the air that slipped into the minimal space between their mouths. "Gun," he whispered. "Shooting." 

Ed let out a breathless laugh and Roy felt the hand that had been tangled in the braid of his uniform brush up, along the curve of his jaw, before threading into his hair. "I should get this finished," he admitted, sounding honestly regretful. "When are we leaving for Central?" 

Roy sighed and forced himself to pull back fully. He drew in a breath that didn't taste like Ed and it curled like a stone in his lungs. "Riza is checking when the next supply run is. Have you called Miss Rockbell to let her know the change?" 

Ed responded with a _look_ before turning back to the typewriter. 

Roy watched him for a moment, taking in the bruising of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, and the disarray of his hair. When Ed glanced up at him, a knowing tilt to his mouth, Roy gave himself a mental shake and announced, "Phone," before leaving the room to the sound of Ed's quiet laughter. 

Sergeant Vought was back at the end of the hall, and he was more than happy to lead Roy to the break room their escorts were using and the phone there. He had to pull out his little notebook with phone numbers in it, because while he'd memorised the number to her home in Resembool, he hadn't had to call her often enough at her shop in Rush Valley to have done the same with that number. As he was dialling, he realised that his hand and the sleeve of his military jacket had developed a hint of colour, similar to how Ed's food had done in the mess, and he stared down at his palm, in equal parts amused and resigned while he waited for the line to connect. 

_"Atelier Garfiel-Rockbell,"_ a familiar male voice answered when the line picked up. 

Roy felt his mouth trying to curve with a smile and let it. "Alphonse." 

_"General!"_ Al recognised, sounding honestly delighted on the other end. _"Wow, this is a surprise! You don't usually call. Is there– Wait."_ Worry filled his voice. _"Is Brother–?"_

"Edward is fine," Roy promised, and Al let out a relieved breath. "He's working on something, so I said I'd call to let Miss Rockbell know there's a slight change of plans." 

_"Oh? Is he going to try avoiding Winry after all?"_ Al asked, and it was clear he disapproved. _"Please don't help him find an excuse, sir. No matter how fine he says his leg is–"_

"Alphonse," Roy interrupted, trying not to sound like he was barely suppressing his laughter. "It's not an avoidance tactic. You're aware he's visiting as part of the Drachman peace delegation?" 

_"He mentioned something along those lines,"_ Al agreed, sounding a little upset that Roy hadn't let him continue complaining. _"I figured I'd get the full story out of him while he's only got one leg and can't run away."_

"A well thought-out strategy," Roy praised and Al snorted. "The primary member of the delegation was interested in visiting Central, and she said she wouldn't be adverse to meeting Edward's family, so I suggested you and Miss Rockbell could come up to Central, if you're amenable." 

_"Let me check,"_ Al replied, and Roy could hear the sounds of the receiver being placed down, then Al moving away a distance and having a garbled conversation with a higher-pitched voice. After a short conversation, he picked the phone back up and agreed, _"We can come up, certainly. When should you be back?"_

Roy heard footsteps out in the hallway and glanced towards the doorway in time to see Riza walk by. "One moment, Alphonse," he murmured before covering the mouth piece and calling, "Colonel!" 

Riza stepped calmly into the open doorway, nodding to the uncertain salutes from the men around the table, who had all put down their hands and set about cleaning their guns or picking lint out of their uniforms as soon as they became aware that Roy wasn't just poking his head in again, as though he really cared that they were sitting around with cards. "General," she replied. "The next supply train isn't for almost another week, but there's a civilian train leaving tonight, and the station manager said they have a military compartment car on an unused track that they can attach at our request." 

Roy had promised a military supply train to Ed, but he really didn't want to be stuck up north for a week, and if they had a compartment car to attach... He closed his eyes and turned back to the phone. "Alphonse?" 

_"Still here."_

"There's a train out tonight that I'll see if we can't get on. If that doesn't work out, I'll ring you back and let you know." 

_"Okay. The next train to Central isn't for another two days, anyway,"_ Al offered. 

"That's fine. Thank you, Alphonse." 

_"Thank you, sir. If you hadn't called me, I wouldn't have heard from Brother until after he was in Central."_

Roy snorted. "If you were lucky." 

_" **Exactly** ,"_ Al agreed with a laugh. _"We'll see you soon, sir."_

"I look forward to it," Roy promised and hung up. "Thank you, gentlemen," he offered to the soldiers as he stepped around them, joining Riza in the doorway. 

Riza stepped out of his way, then fell in next to him as he walked back to his room. When they stepped inside, Ed glanced up from his typing, blinked at Riza's addition, then sat back with a sigh and the sound of his back popping. "Edward," she offered in greeting, and Roy wondered what she was garnering from Ed's slightly rumpled appearance. (Probably the truth; Riza knew them both far too well, and her earlier comments suggested she had expected something to happen. Which should probably concern him more, but Roy had grown used to Riza's uncanny ability to read him years ago.) 

"Colonel," Ed replied with a smile. "The bastard said you were checking train times?" 

Riza inclined her head. "There's a civilian train leaving tonight, or we can wait a week for the next supply train." 

A sort of grim pall came over Ed's features, and before he could say anything, Roy offered, "The station manager says they have a compartment car held in reserve, which they can attach. I assume it's the one we came up on–" he looked at Riza, who shrugged and nodded; she couldn't say for certain, but since the compartment car wasn't standard, it was a likely scenario that it had been left for Roy and his party's return "–so it'll serve the same as if we were to take a supply train, just with more stops and some civilians on board." 

Ed blinked at that, then snorted. "Winry threatened you with something," he assumed. 

"I didn't even speak to her," Roy replied honestly. "But I don't have any interest in begging on Olivier's hospitality any longer than we have to." 

"And," Riza helpfully added, "the longer we're away from Central City, the higher the stack of backlog paperwork." 

Roy didn't groan, but it was a near thing. From Ed's burst of laughter and the suggestion of a smile around Riza's mouth, they were plenty aware. "Ed? We can wait for the supply train if you'd prefer," he offered. 

Ed looked down at the paperwork he was working on and sighed. "I know, but I'm not much for cooling our heels at Briggs for a week, either." He quirked a half smile towards Roy and Riza. "Been there, done that." He shook his head. "I'm fine with the civilian train, trust you lot to do your part." Then he tapped the typewriter. "I want to get as much of this finished as I can." He looked up, met Roy's gaze. "Anya should be willing to pack my case for me, if you'll let her know about the plans?" 

"Of course," Roy agreed. "I'll go down there myself once Jean and Vato return." 

Ed nodded. "If I'm not done fifteen minutes before we need to leave, stop me." 

"Noted," Riza agreed, and Ed's expression took on a distinctly worried cast. 

Roy straightened and started towards the pile of coats. "Colonel, call down to the station and tell them to couple that car, then see if you can't hunt down the Kozlovas and sort out their plans, find out when we'll need to leave to make the train. If you see her first, please tell Lieutenant General Armstrong our plans and ascertain whether she's willing to hold Vickers while our guests are in Central." 

"And Blenheim?" Riza requested. 

Roy grimaced; they'd have to take Blenheim back for a proper tribunal, given his only crime was one of not reporting the instability of his commanding officer, but they didn't have the man power to march him down to Central while they were also serving as a guard for the Drachman party. "If she doesn't want to hold him until we can send up a team to drag him back to Central, we'll take him down to North City lock-up." 

"Sir," Riza replied before the door opened and closed. 

"Blenheim?" Edward requested, slipping nimbly off of Roy's bed. 

"Vickers' adjunct," Roy offered, watching Ed stretch. "His crimes are military oriented." 

Ed shrugged. "Fair enough." He cast Roy a piercing look. "You know Anya only demanded Vickers be given to Drachma to see how far you were willing to go for the treaty." 

Roy shook his head. "I had assumed as much," he admitted, "but either way, it doesn't change my response; if Drachma wants him, he's theirs." 

"Grumman won't care?" 

Roy snorted. "I'm very likely in for a formal reprimand, but given his actions could well have caused an all-out war, I'm more likely to be handed another medal than knocked down a rank." 

Ed considered that for a moment, then stepped across the space separating them. "Good," he decided, catching the fingers of his left hand in Roy's braid again, his right hand coming to rest over the bars that signified his many honours. Two of them, Roy knew, Ed had received his own copies of, for his part in the Promised Day, though he expected they'd either been purposefully lost, or left in a box of debris in Resembool. 

Ed frowned slightly, his eyes caught on Roy's collar, and Roy was just opening his mouth to ask him what was wrong when Ed said, "I have a...question for you." 

Roy blinked at the downturned gaze, half-hidden behind his bangs, vaguely surprised to realise that Ed was no more than two inches shorter than him. "Go ahead." 

Ed glanced up, then, hair shifting out of the way so he could meet his eyes. "When it was agreed that both Anya and Natalia would come, Tsar Ivan insisted that everyone in the party be of similar height and build, with coats that would hide subtle differences; how did you know who I was this morning?" 

"The lack of an escort was telling," Roy commented drily, even as his mind screeched to a halt over admitting the truth; no one knew about his colour-blindness, not even his aunt or Riza (though it was possible Riza suspected something, and just never asked). When Marcoh had returned his vision, it had been fine, hadn't been affected by a dream for almost a year. And, by then, they'd been in Ishval and Roy had been far too caught up in the back-breaking work of rebuilding to worry about his vision going strange for a week or so, and since it fixed itself – since it _always_ fixed itself – he'd just never mentioned it to anyone. 

Ed's expression tightened. "Don't fuck with me," he snapped. "You don't know enough about any of the others to assume they wouldn't have pulled the exact same shit. You weren't guessing, you _knew_ , and I need to know what gave me away, because if someone can tell _me_ apart when I'm just fucking _standing there_ , back to you, then someone might be able to tell _Anya_ apart." 

Roy wondered if he would ever stop being surprised at how seriously Ed took his duties when they actually mattered to him on a personal level. He swallowed and carefully caught the hand that had been pressing against his honours, warming his chest over his heart with the very real heat of a returned limb. "No," he said quietly, holding Ed's angry gaze, "no one else would be able to tell you apart, not even my team. Not even me, most days." 

" _Mustang_ ," Ed snarled. 

Roy shook his head. "When I was blind," he said, and the words rubbed like sandpaper as they scraped up his throat and into the air between them, "I always had the same dreams, flashes of two colours: Red and gold." Ed's eyes widened, but he didn't speak, leaving Roy to fight with the rest of his words. "After... I forgot about them, but sometimes they come back, on the days around the anniversary, and they always..." He shook his head. "Afterwards, for a few days, my colour vision is...extremely limited. Greyscale, mostly, but the right shades of gold or red, I see them too." He tapped the braid of his uniform, though he very much doubted Ed needed to be told which shades he meant. "Last night, I had the dream, so I'm not–" The words caught in his throat and he shook his head. 

"My hair was covered," Ed pointed out, his words careful, but there was a haunting sort of understanding in his eyes. 

"Yes," Roy agreed. 

Ed moved the hand caught in Roy's uniform braid up to press against the corner of his right eye. "I'm in colour for you, aren't I? Not just...not just my hair, or my eyes, but _all_ of me." 

"Yes." Roy glanced down at their joined hands, the purity of the colour of Ed's skin against the muted tones of his own. 

Ed let out an irritated noise. "Stupid, fucking Gate," he complained. 

Roy surprised himself by letting out a laugh, a little bitter around the edges, but fond, too, because Ed had come to the exact same conclusion he had; Anastasia had been very right about them sharing some of the same darkness. And then, because Roy kind of couldn't resist, he said, "You're always as colourful as your language." 

"Oh, fuck you," Ed snapped, and the hand touching the corner of Roy's eye went behind his neck and tugged. "Not an offer," he added against Roy's mouth, before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Roy groaned as most of his sense fled south. "Call it a promise," he suggested before wrapping his free arm around Ed and pulling him in close, tilting his head and diving into Ed's mouth, tasting the broken noise the blond let out as nails scraped at his nape. He lapped at Ed's tongue, traced along his teeth, learnt the inside of his mouth the same way he already knew so well the colour of his eyes and hair. 

Roy was beginning to suspect that Ed should be a controlled substance, because they'd only kissed twice and he was so far beyond addicted, it probably should have terrified him. 

Ed was the one to pull away that time, mouthing near-silent profanities against Roy's lips as they tried to remember how to breathe again. "Who knows?" he asked at last. 

"You," Roy admitted. 

Gold eyes opened, so close to Roy's own that they overlapped, turned into one perfect eye, watching him like he wasn't certain how to respond to that. "Thank you," Ed settled on, "for telling me." 

"You deserved to know." And, _god_ , Ed was like an array that demanded truth, impossible to avoid; how had Roy ever managed to keep so much from him in those early years? 

Ed's eyes – eye, still too close – lit with the sort of happiness that Roy saw in his dreams, that had always been reserved for Al and maybe Miss Rockbell. He pulled back slowly, just enough that his face straightened itself out, became more human. "I'm supposed to be translating," he said, but his right hand didn't move from Roy's and the his fingers of his left hand still brushed gently against the hair at Roy's nape. "You have no idea how hard it is to translate between Amestrisan and Drachman." 

"I don't," Roy agreed. "Maybe I'll have you teach me." 

Mischief glinted gold. "That would be one way to show me how talented your tongue is," Ed agreed. 

Roy smirked. "I can think of ways that involve less talking." 

"Pervert," Ed returned before finally pulling away, his hands going back to yank out the tie holding up his hair. "It might be good for you to pick a few languages other than Amestrisan; harder for assholes to fuck you over if you know what shit they're whispering to each other," he added, his attention clearly turning to combing through his hair with his fingers, trying to make it presentable. 

Roy shrugged and said, in slightly rusty Cretan, **"My aunt said the same thing."**

Ed's head came up so fast, Roy expected to hear his neck crack. **"Okay,"** he said, his own Cretan far more polished, rolling off his tongue like a lover's caress, **"I'll admit that I didn't expect that."**

Roy smirked. **"I would like to think I still have some secrets."** He shook his head and returned to speaking his native language. "I'm afraid I spent too much time in the east to really practise. Should I ask how many languages you speak, now?" 

Ed shrugged. "Counting Drachman dialects and Amestrisan? Six." 

Roy was duly impressed. 

Ed flashed him his most obnoxious grin and returned to tying back his hair. "I also have a basic understanding of the written form of Xerxesian, and Ling taught me some basic phrases in Xingan, before." He didn't specify, didn't have to. "Al would probably be better served for learning Xingan from, if you were interested in it, but I can teach you the dialect of Drachman they speak in the Imperial City – you'll get the most use out of that – and Aerugonian, if you really want." 

"I would appreciate that," Roy admitted, "at least for so long as you're in Central." 

Ed tensed and dropped his hands to his sides. "For so long as I'm in Central," he repeated, and he didn't say it like a question, but the need for an explanation was in every line of his body all the same. 

Roy let his hands fold together behind his back. "Please don't lie and say you're intending to settle down," he requested, keeping his voice quiet. 

Ed swallowed, the movement of his throat suggesting it was a struggle. "No," he agreed before meeting Roy's stare, trepidation darkening the gold of his eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?" 

"I'm not going to lie and say I'm happy about it," Roy replied, still quiet, but unflinching under that uncertain gaze, "but I've known you too long to expect anything else." He tightened his fingers together, the ache of them a sort of settling agent. "I'm used to waiting for you." 

Ed let out a broken sort of laugh, his head going down, eyes hidden behind those bangs that he'd never let grow out. "Yeah, I guess you are," he agreed. "Sorry." 

Roy stepped forward and caught Ed's chin, forced him to look up so he could meet those familiar gold eyes, dark with something that was aimed wholly within. "Edward," he murmured, the words coming surprisingly easy, "you're worth waiting for." 

Ed's eyes went wide and pink dusted along his cheekbones. He tugged quickly back, out of Roy's reach, and snapped, "Fuck you!" Because he dealt with commitment about as well as Roy ever had. 

"Promises," Roy warned him, and Ed's blush intensified. 

Ed spun around and stalked back to the bed and the typewriter. "Go distract someone else, you _bastard_ ," he ordered the far wall. 

Roy allowed himself a quiet chuckle as he picked up his coat and fished his gloves out of the pockets to put on. "I'll have someone bring you lunch in a few hours," he promised as he turned to leave. 

"Yeah, fine." 

"And if you finish with the translation before I come to get you, please put my trousers in my suitcase," Roy added over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob. 

"It's not my fucking job to clean up after you, Mustang," Ed snapped. 

Roy shrugged. "You're the one who abducted my suitcase," he pointed out before swiftly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door on Ed's response. 

He spent the rest of the wait for Havoc and Falman's return chatting with Sergeant Vought, probing for information about Briggs and North City. Vought was more than happy to pass on rumours from North City, but he was expectedly closemouthed about Briggs. Thankfully, he didn't seem to take insult to Roy's questions, and Roy personally respected his loyalty to his posting and commander; if Vought had actually told him anything, he'd have warned Olivier that she should transfer him out. 

It didn't take him long to update Falman and Havoc, and he already knew what he wanted them doing between now and when they left: "Lieutenant Colonel, I need you to keep charge of Ed; if he starts raging for more paper or the typewriter gives him trouble, handle it for him, so he doesn't have to prove he's still capable of large scale destruction." 

Havoc snorted around his unlit cigarette. "You got it, Chief. Want me to make sure he eats lunch, too?" 

Roy nodded. "See if he wants to come with you to the mess. If not, bring him something back and stand over him until he finishes it, please." 

Havoc shot him a knowing grin. "Nah. Just got get him started eating; he'll finish it no problem once he's started." 

Roy shrugged – that was actually fairly accurate – and turned to Falman, lowering his voice to keep the soldiers down the hall from hearing. "You have permission, so do some wandering for me." 

Falman raised an eyebrow. "You suspect trouble?" he murmured, also keeping his voice down. 

"Not from Armstrong," Roy admitted, because he did trust Olivier. But, just as Olivier had her spies in North City and Miles was almost certainly feeding her information from Ishval, other members of the brass would be trying to get an ear in Briggs, and Roy liked to know who was keeping an eye on his allies. With Falman's nearly photographic memory and previous familiarity with Briggs and her staff, he would be the most likely to spot any moles. 

Falman nodded. "I'd like to see if anything in the fort has changed in six years, catch up with a few people, if you don't have anything else for me to do, sir?" he offered, just loud enough that curious ears would hear. Because he was far from the sort of undercover operative that Riza and Havoc were, but he'd learnt his share of tricks during his time at Briggs and after the Promised Day. 

Roy sighed and shrugged. "Yes, fine," he allowed. "Just make sure your belongings are packed before you get caught up reminiscing." 

Havoc snorted and hurried to his own room where, Roy suspected, he could burst out laughing in peace. 

"Sir," Falman agreed before turning to his room to make sure he was packed. 

Which left Roy to collect Vought and make his way to the other side of Briggs. The sergeant was kind enough to not force him to take the outdoor path this time, and Roy requested a brief stop by the mess, to ensure none of the Drachman party was there – they weren't – before finishing the journey. 

They were stopped at the end of the Drachmans' hall, next to the signs warning soldiers to stay out, and one of the Briggs guards stationed there went for Anastasia at Roy's request. 

"Roy," she called cheerfully as she approached. He saw her glancing behind him and knew who she was looking for. 

"Anya," he returned with an incline of his head. "Edward is currently working on translating the treaty back in the west wing; he asked me to update yourself and your party on our current travel plans." 

Anastasia blinked once, then sighed. "He is going to make me pack his things," she guessed. 

Roy very firmly didn't smile. "He did mention something along those lines, I'm afraid." 

Anastasia rolled her eyes and curled a finger at him. "Come. I will collect everyone for your update, then you will help me snoop through his things." 

"Given he's turned my room into his office," Roy returned drily as he followed her, "that seems a fair trade." 

The Tsesarevna's laughter was actually quite lovely, and had the added bonus of bringing Natalia to peek out of her door. She asked something in Drachman, and Anastasia answered, "Ed," which seemed to be more than sufficient, because Natalia snorted and rolled her eyes. Anastasia rattled off some more Drachman and Natalia nodded before stepping out into the hallway. 

With Natalia's help, it didn't take them long to collect the men, and Anastasia was happy to play translator as Roy explained their current plans. 

Once the others had disbanded to pack up their belongings, Anastasia led the way to what was apparently Ed's room. The familiar, battered suitcase was left open on the bed, clothing and journals strewn about, and Roy realised he hadn't seen it when they'd first met downstairs; either it had been disguised for conformity's sake, or Ed's presence had distracted him from a lot more than he'd thought. 

"Some things," Roy commented, "never change." 

Anastasia laughed. "He has always been messy?" 

"According to his brother, yes," Roy agreed, looking over the scattered journals and picking out one that had a photo peeking out of the top. He marked the page with his finger, unwilling to actually read any of Ed's notes without his permission, and drew out a photo of Elicia climbing Al's armour, the girl grinning widely at whatever Al must have been saying. 

"The figure you made him," Anastasia realised, peering around his arm. "Natalia said that his brother once wore it?" 

Roy nodded as he slipped the photo back into its place. "Yes. Everyone always assumed Alphonse was the Fullmetal Alchemist, since he wore that armour, and it...irritated Edward." Which was a nice way of saying that the reactions had been as likely to send him into a rage as bringing up how short he was. 

"Why did Alphonse not do away with the armour? The way Ed speaks of him, he is kind." 

Roy touched the edge of the photo that stuck up from the pages and shook his head. "He had his reasons," he offered. 

Anastasia sighed and picked up another journal, flipping absently to a picture of Elicia sleeping with a stuffed dog that, Roy suspected, Ed and Al had bought for her, because Maes had always made a habit of sending people pictures of his daughter with the gifts they had given her, as though to prove that she honestly loved them. "Did you speak to him?" she asked. 

Roy met her stare head-on. "Yes." 

Anastasia stared at him for a long moment in silence, reading who knew what from his expression, before giving a brief nod. "Good," she decided as she returned to packing Ed's suitcase. 

They snooped through the pictures in a few other of Ed's journals. Most of them were of Elicia and either one of the Elric brothers or Gracia, but a couple had very clearly been sent by the Rockbells over the years that Ed and Al had travelled Amestris. One picture was of the brothers and Miss Rockbell, taken before they left to travel the rest of the world, which Roy recognised from Gracia's collection of photos (it had been a gift from Miss Rockbell), and Anastasia confided, "When he is settled in to stay for a few months, he puts this picture out in his room." 

Roy made a mental note of that, in case he needed some way to soothe Miss Rockbell or Al; it wasn't a letter or a phone call, but it was proof that Ed had kept them close, in his own way. 

Even with their snooping, it didn't take them long to get through Ed's belongings, given that he always packed light. "Did you want to take it back to him?" Anastasia asked as they latched it closed. 

Roy shook his head. "I have a couple of other errands I need to run before I even think about going back to the west wing." And then, because Anastasia could probably guess as much, he admitted, "If he's going to finish that translation before we leave, I need to stay away." 

The gold specks in Anastasia's eye brightened and she picked up the suitcase. "I should be more impressed that you can distract him from his focus, I think, but it is a boring document he is translating, yes?" 

"Yes," Roy agreed, amused. 

Anastasia tapped her pointer finger and thumb together in his direction. "It is a little less impressed." 

"Impressive," Roy heard himself correcting. Then he winced. "Sorry." 

She waved a negligent hand at him. "My Amestrisan is not perfect, I know this. Ed is a good teacher, but there is a point when he cannot pre-empt my mistakes." She sighed. "He takes joy, sometimes, in correcting me, I think. I would wish that I could correct him back, but his Drachman was flawless before we had ever met." 

"That doesn't surprise me," Roy admitted, because Ed had always soaked up knowledge like a sponge, had been quick to turn it around and prove his immediate comprehension. "He's promised to teach me Drachman, and you're welcome to correct my certain failures." 

Anastasia laughed, leading the way back out into the hallway. "I may just," she agreed before shooting him a speculative glance. "If your errands have ceased by lunch, I could perhaps teach you some? You might impress him." 

"I would be honoured," Roy replied, inclining his head. 

"Hah! You say now," was Anastasia's parting comment before she vanished into her own room. 

With that vaguely concerning promise ringing in his ears, Roy went to find his escort so he could hunt down Olivier and make sure everything was sorted for their trip to Central on her side. After that, he should probably report back to Grumman, though he wasn't looking forward to the fanfare that would await them in Central if they were expected. 

-0-

Anastasia, it turned out, was a hard teacher. But, while Roy was no Edward Elric when it came to assimilating new knowledge, he wasn't quite the hopeless case that he liked to project. Of course, he wasn't alone in his lessons, which seemed to help as much as it hindered: Andrea and Francine had both settled in to practise their spoken Drachman, while Natalia had joined them to watch and help a bit, and Riza had stayed at Roy's side and listened and watched with an intent expression. (Knowing his adjunct, she had no interest in learning how to speak Drachman, but wouldn't mind developing the Kozlovas' skill in understanding it when others spoke.) 

Roy had managed to figure out the most basic grammar and had picked up a smattering of basic vocabulary by the time he needed to go drag Ed away from his typewriter, so the groups separated to gather their belongings and any absent members, with Andrea walking with Roy and Riza, while Francine joined the Drachmans. 

"We'll have to take three cars," Andrea pointed out after they'd been walking for a ways. 

Roy nodded. "I already asked Lieutenant General Armstrong, and she's willing to lend us one of Briggs' extra vehicles, so long as I can promise it'll be brought back up during the next supply run from North City. I'll have Major Falman drive the third car." 

Andrea snorted. "Fair enough. Have him in the middle of the convoy so Ci-Ci can honk a warning if he starts drifting out into the minefield." 

"Unlikely, but a fair caution," Roy allowed, nodding to the guard at the end of their hallway. "Given he's the only one of you who doesn't understand Drachman, he'll have to be the one driving Edward and Tsesarevna Anastasia." 

Andrea shot him a sharp look, though he could tell she understood the sense in setting their only non-Drachman driver with the one Drachman visitor who was fluent in Amestrisan. "Who do I get?" 

Roy considered her as he stopped outside the door to his room, shifting quickly through his mental list of half-decided car groups. "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc, Tsarevna Natalia, and Orlov. Colonel Hawkeye will be with Major Kozlova, Ambassador Kuznetsov, and Lagunov." Because no one could argue with him for putting the two alchemists in their party with the two Tsarevnas, and giving Francine a female ally seemed only fair. 

Both women saluted him, so Roy stepped into his room, the sound of steady typing immediately audible. 

"Ed," Roy called as he closed the door behind him. 

"Two more sentences," Ed mumbled, not looking up. 

Roy sighed, but figured he could allow the blond that; they were planning to leave early enough that they could stop for some take-out at Andrea and Francine's favourite restaurant in North City, since the train was departing so close to dinner time. If they had to skip the non-train food, it wouldn't hurt any of them. 

Because this was Ed, of course, two sentences didn't take long, and he pulled the last sheet of paper from the paper table with a quiet breath of relief and waved it through the air a few times to help it dry as he glanced up at where Roy had leant back against the wall next to the door. "We're heading out soon?" 

Roy nodded and pushed away from the wall. "As soon as that's all packed away," he agreed. 

Ed grimaced down at the mess of papers. He'd managed to keep them clean of food-covered fingerprints – an accomplishment, Roy knew – but they had been spread out along the bed, in some sort of order that could have only made sense to a very focussed Ed. "Right. I'm going to have to straighten this out on the train," he decided as he checked the ink on his last page. Satisfied, he began gathering all of the papers together in a messy pile while Roy collected the typewriter to carry over to the table next to the door; they could have one of the Briggs soldiers return it to whichever secretary Falman had borrowed it from. 

"Can I put these in your case?" Ed asked. 

Roy nodded and turned to collect his trousers from under Ed's coat. "There's plenty of room," he admitted, because he hadn't packed for a long trip. 

He heard Ed unlatching the suitcase and started over as he pulled it open, one gold eyebrow arching at the two sets of clean underthings, one set of dirty underthings, and an extra white button-up. "I see that," he offered drily. 

"Not all of us live out of a suitcase," Roy returned, tossing Ed's coat on the blond's head so he could fold up his trousers and slip them away. 

"There's nothing wrong with living out of a suitcase," Ed muttered. "It's a good suitcase." 

"It's certainly seen its share of the world," Roy agreed, reaching out and brushing his gloved fingers along Ed's jaw, because he could and he wanted to touch him, even if his gloves were in the way. "I'm surprised it's survived some of your adventures." 

Ed glanced up at him, something secretive glinting in his eyes. "I may have added a little something to it shortly after I got it." 

"Of course you did." 

A knock on the door interrupted them, and they both glanced over as Riza called, "You have two minutes before I come in there." 

Roy sighed at the proof that she knew there was something between himself and Ed, because she usually didn't give warnings before bursting in on him. "Gun," he reminded Ed. 

Ed snorted and used Roy as a steadying object as he jumped from the bed, leaving behind a warm handprint against Roy's shoulder as he pulled away. "You know, for someone who can snap and make flames appear–"

"Be quiet, Edward," Roy ordered, snapping his suitcase shut. "You're terrified of her too." 

"I'm not sure 'terrified' is the right–"

"Be quiet," Roy repeated, grabbing his suitcase and shoving Ed towards the door. 

His team was waiting for him, and they fell in around him and Ed as if the blond's addition were natural as they followed Andrea to the lift. It was reassuring to Roy, this proof that no time away could ever erase Ed's place among his people. 

Olivier, Francine, and the Drachmans were waiting by the exit, and Ed wasted no time in joining Anastasia, taking his suitcase from her without a hint of shame and murmuring assurances to his party; Roy could only assume he was promising that the treaty translation was finished. 

Roy turned to Olivier. "Lieutenant General." 

"General," was her cool response, before she motioned towards Francine. "Major Kozlova will accompany you back to Central." 

Roy nodded his understanding, didn't ask if Welrod had approved that, given he was, officially, Francine's commanding officer. To Francine, he asked, "Will we need to make a stop past your lodgings to collect anything?" 

She shrugged. "I've already called down and requested for someone to meet us at the station with what I'll need." 

"Good." Roy turned back to Olivier. "Führer Grumman promised there will be a team of military police to take Blenheim into custody with the next supply train." 

Olivier snorted, unimpressed. "Tell Grumman he'd best send up something special for my men, making us put up with traitors." 

"Ring him and demand it yourself," Roy shot back. 

Olivier's mouth curved with a hint of an approving smirk and she straightened to salute him. "Mustang." 

Roy returned the salute. "Armstrong." Then he turned to the soldier who stood at the winch for the door. "At your leisure, Sergeant Major." 

"Sir!" the man called before heaving on the mechanism. 

Roy quickly ensured he was as secured against the cold as he was going to get, aware of the Drachmans and his own team bundling up as well, then motioned for the Kozlovas to lead them out into the chill of the late afternoon. 

Once they were all moving, it was clear to see why Ed had specified his lack of movement as being an important factor in why Roy shouldn't have recognised him that morning: It was remarkably easy to tell the difference between the Drachman party by the way they walked. Ed was the most obvious difference, with his automail leg giving him a faint hitch in his stride, which could never quite be called a limp, but was distinctive all the same. The two women were obvious simply because of the difference between men's and women's bodies, and while the coats certainly helped hide the sway of their hips, they both possessed an added grace that, Roy suspected, was due to their royal upbringing. 

Of the three men, the two bodyguards had that particular economy of movement that most well-trained hand-to-hand fighters developed, which told Roy a lot more about their strengths than anything else could have, and Kuznetsov had the sort of lagging pace that developed in those who spent more time sitting in an office than getting out in the field. 

With their different strides and the fact that Ed, Lagunov, and Orlov always stuck very obviously next to the same people, Roy had no trouble divvying them up between the vehicles, without having to double-check who was who. 

Once they were past the barbed wire fence and out on the main road, Anastasia undid her hood just enough that she could be understood, then said, "Major Kozlova suggested we would be stopping in your North City to get food?" 

Roy nodded, glancing up towards where Ed had claimed the front seat and was peeking back at them. "As I'm sure Ed will be happy to tell you, Amestris train fare isn't the most appetising option." 

"It's not _that_ bad," Ed insisted. 

Roy nodded. "Which is why you always turned in reimbursement forms for station food vendors," he agreed. 

"Shut up, bastard," Ed ordered over Anastasia's quiet laughter. "I said it wasn't bad, not that I wanted to _live_ on it." 

"An important distinction," Roy agreed, and Ed proceeded to tell him exactly where he could shove his smart remarks, much to Falman's apparent horror and Roy and Anastasia's shared amusement. 

"Edward," Falman finally tried, "please." 

"Loosen up," Ed returned, but obediently changed tracks, "What are we having, then?" 

"I have no idea," Roy admitted. "Stardust told me it was good and everyone should be able to find something to eat, so I expect it's Drachman fare of some variation. Given that the Kozlovas have the greatest familiarity with North City, I opted to bow to their greater knowledge." 

Ed shrugged. "Fair enough." 

"Tell me about your Central City," Anastasia requested. "Something that is not how impressive the libraries are." She cast a vaguely irritated look towards Ed who shrugged, unapologetic. 

Roy snorted and settled in to tell her about Central, with Falman's occasional input. 

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene of a sexual nature near the end of this chapter, mild enough that I felt safe putting it on FFN. XD  
> Unmarked because I suck that way.

"Sir," Falman called after they'd collected their food, as they were approaching the station. 

Roy leant forward, over Ed's shoulder, and sighed at the line of military jackets that awaited them. He was sure the line of blue was meant to be impressive, but with his limited colour vision, it was just a line of darker grey interspersed with the gold of the uniform braids. "Major General Welrod," he assumed. 

Ed glanced back at him, gold eyes narrowed. "How much of a pain in the arse is this going to be?" 

Roy felt his mouth tighten. "He's not a bad officer, but Lieutenant General Armstrong isn't impressed with him; she seems to think he wouldn't survive more than a day up at Briggs." 

"You don't like him," Ed guessed. 

Roy sat back, drawing on his best untouchable mask. "He didn't appreciate my rapid promotion. For the sake of getting through this with the least amount of wasted time, please pretend you know what diplomacy means." 

"Fuck you," Ed retorted before rattling something off in Drachman and quickly doing his hood back up. 

"He says he does not speak Amestrisan," Anastasia translated. "He is just here to punch people who get ideas." 

"Some things never change," Roy muttered, and Anastasia laughed as she did up her own hood. "Major," he added as they pulled to a stop outside the station. 

Falman met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. "Understood, sir," he agreed to the orders that Roy didn't need to speak. 

Roy quickly stepped out onto the pavement once the car stopped, striding forward with the easy pace of an officer who trusted his men to handle things. "Major General Welrod," he called once he was in range to not have to shout. 

Welrod saluted him with a sickly sort of smile. "General Mustang. I heard that important dignitaries from Drachma would be travelling back to Central with you." 

Roy gave a careless roll of his shoulders, clasping his hands together behind his back. "Some ambassadors, some guards," he replied. "Important enough in terms of the treaty, I expect, but nothing that requires this." He looked pointedly along the line of soldiers. 

Welrod looked vaguely discomfited by that. "I was given to believe–"

"I can guess what you were told by whatever ears you have attuned to Briggs," Roy interrupted, his voice hard, because the last thing he wanted was to stand out in the cold and hold up their train while Welrod made a big to-do about Drachma's crown heir visiting Amestris. He glanced at the faintly shivering lieutenant colonel standing just behind and slightly to one side of Welrod, then past her, along the other soldiers, many of whom were showing similar signs of feeling the cold, and Roy could only guess how long they'd been forced to stand outside, given that his party had stopped on the way. "Dismissed!" he snapped, before gentling his tone and adding, "Lieutenant Colonel, please take everyone inside and see that they're given a hot drink." 

The lieutenant colonel's salute was grateful as she stiffly replied, "Sir!" then turned to set about following his orders. 

" _Mustang_ ," Welrod hissed, stepping forward so he was in Roy's personal space. "You don't have the right to come into my city–"

"Only idiots force their troops to stand out in the cold without letting them wear coats, Major General," Roy hissed back, not bothering to hide his fury. "I'm sure the line of blue is aesthetically pleasing to someone, but if I find you doing that again, damn public opinion, I will have you knocked back down to corporal so fast, your head will spin. Am. I. Clear?" 

"Crystal," Welrod gritted out, stepping back. 

Roy turned away from him, towards where his team, the Drachmans, and the Kozlovas were waiting a few paces back. "Colonel Hawkeye, please install the ambassadors and their guards in their compartments," he ordered and Riza saluted before motioning for everyone to follow her. "Major Kozlova, have you located your belongings?" 

Francine motioned with the military-issue suitcase in her left hand. "Yes, sir." 

"Then please follow Colonel Hawkeye." 

"Roy," Andrea said, stepping past her sister and casting a pleading look towards him. 

Roy shook his head. "You're to remain here, Major." 

"Yes," Welrod blustered as he stepped up next to Roy, clearly having regained his sense of self-importance. "The orders for your sister to be sent to Central came from the Führer himself–" Roy suspected Olivier had called in a favour, for that one, or falsified the orders "–but there was nothing about you leaving your post as well." 

Andrea's jaw tightened, and Roy recognised that expression from Ishval, where it had never heralded a peaceful response. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder. "Andrea," he said, keeping his voice quiet, "I need you _here_. That stunt he just pulled? I need to know if he does it again." 

She met his gaze and he could see her giving in, unwilling as it was. "You keep my sister safe, Roy Mustang," she whispered. "And you keep _them_ safe." 

"I swear," Roy promised. "No one will be wandering around Central alone." Because she had been Maes' friend too, and that was the official story, that he'd been killed while alone at night. 

She gave a sharp nod, then turned and stalked back towards the cars. 

Roy allowed himself a silent sigh, then resettled his expression into something matching the weather and turned back to Welrod. "If that's all, Major General? I don't intend to keep the train waiting." 

Welrod's jaw clenched and he gave Roy a tight salute. "Yes, sir." 

Roy nodded and stepped past him. 

No one stopped him as he stepped onto the train, and he quickly retired to the military car. He was grateful to see that the door connecting them to the rest of the train locked from the inside and firmly turned that lock, then started down the hall, wondering who had picked which compartments. 

Ed poked his head out of the compartment two down, gold eyes dancing. "And you told _me_ to be diplomatic." 

"You're a civilian, with a history of destroying public property, here representing a foreign country," Roy replied drily as he reached Ed, and Havoc started laughing from one of the other compartments, while the former alchemist grinned at him, unrepentant. "If you had got involved, we'd have had an international incident, a destroyed train station, or _both_ on our hands. When I tell him off, he has to salute me and say, 'yes, sir'. Move." 

"Fuck you, sir," Ed retorted, but he moved back into the compartment all the same, letting Roy inside. 

Riza and Anastasia were both seated in the compartment, taking up one bench, and Ed flopped back onto the other one as Roy nodded to them both. They'd clearly already started in on the food they'd stopped for on their way, paper bags opened next to each of them. 

"Here," Ed called, waving the bag of take-out that Roy had left for Falman to collect at him. "Sit down and eat." 

"Thank you," Roy murmured as he took the offering and settled onto the same bench. As he pulled out his food, he commented, "Colonel, it seems the car door locks." 

"It seems so, sir," Riza agreed. 

Roy nodded. "Let's keep it that way." 

"Of course, sir. I promise to shoot you if you forget." 

"Appreciated," Roy muttered while Ed choked on a laugh. "Edward, did you need lessons in eating?" 

"Fuck you." 

They all settled in to eat in silence after that, and the train started moving out as they did so. 

Once they were done, Anastasia politely requested, "Should we expect a similar greeting in your Central City?" 

"Very likely," Roy admitted, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "If we're lucky, however, the Führer will listen to me and simply send a few cars to collect us, and the welcoming will be awaiting us at Central Command. If that's the case, we can stop to drop off our luggage and blame traffic on the delay." 

Ed snorted. "Yeah. Hey, so, what sort of accommodations are we looking at? Is everyone bunking at whatever building the military claimed for Innokenti?" 

Roy traded a grimace with Riza. "Unfortunately, the building set aside for the Drachman ambassador only has four furnished bedrooms, with the rest of the space made up as other functional rooms." He shook his head. "We can put most of your party up in a hotel." 

"There are some nice hotels in Central," Ed said, his tone hard, "but their security is for shit." 

Roy forced a strained smile and turned to Ed. "We just don't have the accommodations for diplomatic parties, Edward. We can put a guard rotation in the hall–"

"It was a member of the military who went fucking nuts last time!" Ed shot back. "There aren't enough people in the military that you trust implicitly, not in Central, and we both know it! And what about when Al and Winry get there and I'm stuck on the couch because Winry has to bitch over the state of my leg?" 

"I can't create miracles out of thin air," Roy said, trying to keep his tone moderated. 

Riza cleared her throat, bringing them both around to stare at her. "I might remind the General that he has two perfectly acceptable guest rooms for the Drachman royals, and a sufficiently comfortable couch for Tsarevna Natalia's guard in the study." She focussed on Ed as Roy blinked, realising that was quite true. "It's as secure as we could make it, and the only military personal that live within a four block radius are loyal, including myself and Lieutenant Colonels Havoc and Breda. There's a tunnel in the kitchen that leads down into the sewers, which the general built himself and so exists on no city blueprints, if you need an escape route." 

Ed settled back against the bench, his expression mulish, like he knew this was the best possible option, but he wasn't quite ready to stop complaining. "And where am I supposed to sleep in all of this?" 

Riza just stared at him, unimpressed, leaving it for Anastasia to ever-so-innocently say, "Roy's room, I should think." 

Ed's cheekbones developed that shading of pink that was becoming familiar. "Oh," he said, glancing towards Roy. 

Roy shrugged. "If you want to," he agreed. 

Ed cleared his throat. "Yes, of course I–" He stopped and cast a glance between Roy and Anastasia, clearly only just realising something. "Since when have you two been on a first name basis?" he demanded. 

"Since Anya decided not to throw me off the battlements," Roy replied drily. 

Ed made a complaint in Drachman, and Anastasia offered an amused response in the same language. 

Roy sighed, guessing he was unlikely to get a translation of that. "Colonel, please let everyone know about the locked door and the accommodations in Central." 

Riza nodded as she stood. "And Major Kozlova?" 

Roy frowned at that, recalling his promise to Andrea. "She's welcome to stay in the Drachman embassy, to act as additional security for the ambassador, or we can make something up for her in the dorms." He narrowed his eyes at her, spotting the faint signs in her greyscale eyes. "Unless you had a different idea." 

Riza's mouth kicked up slightly at one side. "You're not the only one with a spare guest room, sir," she pointed out. 

"Hm. It's her choice." 

Riza inclined her head, then stepped out of their compartment. 

Ed touched Roy's shoulder. "Did you tell her?" he asked quietly. 

Roy levelled a bland look at the blond. "Edward, she's been my adjunct for almost thirteen years; she knows my secrets before I do, most of the time." 

Ed snorted at that, his mouth kicking up on one side. "You don't care?" he asked, and there was more than one question in that, more than one _person_ he was asking about. 

Roy met his eyes. "I trust my team, and I trust your family." And, though he wouldn't be saying so any time soon, while it was true that homosexuality wasn't always met with smiles, especially in the military, being with the former Fullmetal Alchemist wouldn't harm Roy's political standing. Not that he had any real intention in publicly announcing it; some matters were best kept private, especially when they were still as new as this. "And I trust Major Kozlova's discretion." He suspected she'd pass the news on to Olivier and Andrea at the first opportunity, but Andrea was a friend, and he doubted Olivier would care, though she might try to use it as leverage, if she thought it would prove useful. He looked towards Anastasia, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Natalia will be fine, but I will ensure the silence of the others," the Tsesarevna promised quietly, her eyes hard. 

"Good," Ed decided, and Roy suddenly found a golden-blond head pressing against his shoulder. "Sleeping against train windows suck." 

"Says the man who used to sleep on a suit of armour," Roy muttered, shifting back into the corner where the bench and the wall met, so Ed could rest his head on his chest, instead. 

"Shut up," Ed muttered into Roy's coat, even as he shifted into what appeared to be a more comfortable position. "Al was comfortable." 

Roy wrapped an arm around Ed's waist, securing him against any changes in the train's movements, and pressed his lips to the top of his head. "Get some sleep, Ed." 

He and Anastasia were both quiet as Ed's breathing evened out, and Roy rolled his eyes at the proof that Al hadn't been lying about Ed falling right to sleep on trains. "You're impossible," he whispered. 

Anastasia let out a quiet snort. "I do not think he got much sleep last night." 

"No," Roy agreed, because Ed hadn't skipped dinner like Roy had, yet he'd still been up disgustingly early. "It's fine; one of us should get some sleep on this blasted train." 

Anastasia smiled at him. "I remember you saying you do not sleep on trains. It is because the seats are not comfortable?" 

Roy carefully shrugged the shoulder Ed wasn't half resting on and nodded. "Mostly. But, too–" he motioned towards the open compartment door "–it's not very secure. Colonel Hawkeye trained herself to learn the native sounds of her position and wake up if they change, but I never developed the same skill." Which wasn't quite a lie, because he had trouble adapting to the sounds of a moving train, but he had developed the skill in Ishval, same as Riza, had had to, and while he had attuned to the movements of Maes and Riza and his squad (and had since attuned himself to his team and, very likely, Ed and Al, though he'd never had the chance to test it with the brothers), his immediate reaction to any other changes was to snap. Which wasn't a problem if he took his gloves off before he fell asleep or he was in an acknowledged hostile situation, but it would be a nightmare on a train. 

Anastasia nodded in understanding. "If you are willing, I am happy to teach you more Drachman for so long as these seats keep me awake." 

Roy offered her a grateful smile; he really needed to remember to pack reading material next time he was going to be stuck on a train. "I would appreciate that." 

So they settled in to do so, Riza joining them shortly after they'd started. 

-0-

Somehow, not long after Riza and Anastasia had both dozed off, Roy had managed to do to same, and he suspected it was due entirely to the warm weight on his chest. His internal clock suggested he couldn't have slept for more than two hours, and he was just wondering what had woken him when he glanced across the compartment and found Riza's eyes open, barely visible in the darkness. 'Car door,' she mouthed. 

Roy kept from tensing, barely, and carefully started to slide out from under Ed. 

A hand fisted in his coat and Roy looked down to find Ed blinking blearily up at him. Before either of them could say anything, the sound of someone trying to force the car door came again, and Ed's eyes hardened, immediately awake. 

Together, the three of them slipped from their compartment. Roy used quick military hand signals to tell Riza to remain in the doorway, keeping an eye on Anastasia, then motioned for himself and Ed to continue to the door that led to the civilian cars, where the noise was coming from. 

Once they got close enough, they could hear the murmur of confused voices on the other side, and Roy motioned for Ed to stay back, which he did with a scowl, before rapidly unlocking and opening the door with one hand, snapping with the other hand and carefully lighting a small flame over his fingers. 

The two men on the step between train cars stumbled back, their eyes going wide. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" Roy asked in his iciest voice. 

"Oh, shit," one of them got out. 

"W-we was je-jest lookin' fer the d-dinin' car," the other one stuttered. 

"I would suggest trying the other direction," Roy suggested coolly. 

The pair of them fled. 

Roy didn't let the flame go until he'd closed and locked the car door again. When he turned back around, he found Havoc and Orlov standing outside the compartment just past Roy's, while Francine and Lagunov stood in the doorway of the one closest to him. Ed had retreated a few steps, standing between Francine and Riza, which left enough room for Roy to have retreated a couple of steps if necessary. All of the military personal had pulled out their sidearms – Francine had clearly judged the quarters too tight to use her sword – and the two Drachmans and Ed all held the glint of something metallic in their hands – knives, Roy assumed. "All clear," he called. 

"Vse chisto," Ed added, and Orlov and Lagunov relaxed and put their weapons away a half-beat after the Amestrisans. 

They all filtered back into their compartments, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline drained away, and Roy debated the pros and cons of raiding their coffee stash as he made his way back down to his compartment. 

Anastasia was awake inside, her eyes dark and alert as she listened to whatever Ed was saying in Drachman. Roy was vaguely proud to recognise the occasional word – he seemed to be explaining the abrupt wake-up – but he shook his head and glanced towards Riza questioningly. She grimaced and nodded in response, so Roy went to collect them both some coffee. He grabbed a third cup as well, for either Ed or Anastasia, if either wanted it, or just so Roy didn't have to walk back down the car again once he'd drained his cup. 

Anastasia gladly took the third cup, while Ed helped himself to Roy's. "Go get your own," Roy quietly ordered as he took his cup back. "This is my sludge." 

Ed's eyes glinted in the half-light of their compartment, which Riza had turned on when it became apparent they would all be up for a while. "That stuff will kill you, you know," he said, also keeping his voice down in deference to the thin walls between them and their sleeping companions in the compartments on either side of them. "I'm just trying to save your life." 

Roy held his hand away when Ed grabbed for his cup again. "If you'd entered the military the proper way, Mr Elric, you would be aware that they deliver immunisations against the deadly effects of military coffee during training; I have no fear of this sludge." 

Ed turned to Riza. "He's full of shit," he said. 

And Riza, bless her, said with a straight face, "He's not." 

Ed looked between them disbelievingly while Anastasia hid her giggles in her cup. "No," he insisted. When Roy and Riza answered by taking simultaneous sips of their coffee, Ed threatened, "Don't make me wake up Falman; he can't lie to save his life." 

"You assume Major Falman would say anything different," Riza replied, clearly happy to continue with the joke. 

But Roy had had his fun – and he honestly wouldn't put it past Ed to wake up all the other military members in the car to find one of them unwilling to play along – so he held his cup back out to Ed as a peace offering. "No, there aren't any immunisations, but someone could probably do a medical study on the tolerance levels of those soldiers who have been drinking it for years." 

"You're a bastard," Ed informed him, snatching the cup. Then he turned to Riza and promised, "I'll remember this." 

Riza smiled, faint but there. "I'm sorry, Edward, but it really was too good a chance to pass up." 

"You both suck," Ed informed them as he settled back against Roy's shoulder, the cup of coffee held safely out of danger. 

Roy took the cup and quickly rearranged them both back to their previous position. "Is it the rocking?" he asked, admittedly baffled by the fact that the military-grade coffee wasn't keeping Ed awake. 

"Fuck off," Ed mumbled. 

' _How_?' he mouthed at Riza, and she hid a smile in her coffee cup. Next to her, Anastasia wasn't bothering to hide her smile, and she shrugged when Roy looked askance at her. 

"When should we reach your Central City?" Anastasia asked as Ed's breathing started to even out. 

Roy and Riza both looked towards the window, as though they actually knew enough about the area north of Central to make a guess based on what they could see outside. Roy did know, however, that they'd already long passed the last town the train stopped at in the northern area, and he suspected they'd already crossed over the border into the central area. On the military supply train, this part of the trip had taken almost eight hours, but they'd only slowed down slightly to go through the towns, whereas this train would be stopping at each one. 

"According to the timetable Major Falman cited me earlier, we're due to arrive at Central Station around noon," Riza offered. 

Roy carefully switched his coffee to the hand wrapped around Ed's waist, then pulled out his pocket watch. "A little over nine hours," he said after calculating the time. He slipped his watch back away, offering, "If you can get some more sleep, do so." He glanced at Riza, including her in the suggestion, and she inclined her head. 

"Once this wears off," Anastasia agreed, motioning with her coffee. "Ed said he had finished the translation of the treaty?" 

"It's out of order," Roy warned, and Anastasia shrugged. "Everything's in my suitcase." He glanced down at Ed and sighed. "Colonel, if you could?" 

"Just this once, sir," Riza agreed with an amused smile as she stood. Anastasia wordlessly offered to hold her coffee, so Riza handed it over before picking out Roy's suitcase and efficiently withdrawing the documents, without airing about Roy's dirty laundry (which she had done, once, when he'd pushed her too far while learning alchemy under her father's tutelage). She put his suitcase back up in the overhang and traded Anastasia her coffee for the mess of paperwork as she sat back down. "Are my notes in there?" she asked Roy as Anastasia sighed over the mess and began separating everything. 

"Possibly," Roy allowed. "I'm not certain. I don't remember seeing them on the table where I'd left them after Ed took over my room as his office, so it's entirely possible." 

"Some of these are hand-written," Anastasia offered. 

"Then, yes, they're in that pile." Roy sipped at his coffee as Riza leant across the bench she shared with Anastasia to help organise the three piles. "Thank you, Colonel, for the laugh, by the way." 

Riza cast him a glance, a hint of amusement in her eyes, barely visible between Roy's ruined vision and the low light. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," she told him. 

Roy smiled into his cup and didn't push the matter. 

Once all the paperwork was organised, Anastasia sat back with the Drachman copy and a pen that Roy had found in his pocket, while Riza took a look over the Amestrisan copy with her own pen. Roy was left with Riza's transcription, and he glanced through it again just for something to do. 

When Anastasia finished reading her copy of the treaty, she asked for the one Riza was reading, which she handed over. "May I?" Roy requested, motioning towards the Drachman copy. 

Anastasia cast him an amused look, but leant forward to pass it over. "You realise we use a different alphabet," she said just before Roy got a look at the document. 

Roy stared at the unfamiliar letters for a moment, then turned his gaze on the blond head resting against his chest. "Dammit, Ed," he muttered, and Anastasia muffled a snicker into the Amestrisan copy of the treaty. 

He spent a while staring at the different alphabet, not really seeing it. He supposed, when he thought about it, that the shapes resembled some of the runes used in some of the older and more complex alchemy arrays, which he knew had been brought over by Father from Xerxesian alchemy. Given that Ed had admitted to knowing some written Xerxesian, it shouldn't have been so surprising that he'd picked up the Drachman alphabet. 

Roy sighed to himself and glanced down at the gold head. He wanted to ask why Ed had settled on him, why the genius former alchemist, who could have had _anyone_ in the world, had shown affection to _Roy_. Surely there were people out there who could keep up with him better, who hadn't turned their focus to one type of alchemy and stopped, who hadn't sold their soul to the military out of some naïve belief that they were being sent out to protect the people of Amestris. 

Of course, Anastasia had hit on a large portion of it: Ed and Roy had shared darkness in their pasts, knew more of the things that haunted each others' nightmares than most of the other people in their lives. Al and Riza, Chris, Miss Rockbell... 

Roy closed his eyes and let his head drop forward, breathing in the lingering scent of cold and motor oil in Ed's hair. There was one other thing they shared, something which only two other people currently living could hope to understand the meaning behind: a stone Gate on an endless white plain, and the figure standing in front of it, mocking them as it stole away the most important physical aspect to each trespasser. 

So maybe, in the end, Roy could understand why Ed had chosen him, why he'd taken a chance and sat on Roy's bed that morning when he knew Anastasia was dragging him away to tell him what Ed likely never would have, what Roy never would have figured out on his own. 

"Sir?" Riza called, her voice pitched quiet enough that, had Roy actually been asleep, he would have slept through it. 

Roy raised his head and looked across at her. "Colonel?" he returned just as quietly. 

She raised her own cup. "Refill?" 

He glanced towards Anastasia, only to find that she'd managed to doze off while his thoughts had been meandering. "Please," he murmured, holding out his own cup. "I thought I saw some pastries," he added, because two cups of military-grade sludge on a mostly empty stomach was a recipe for trouble. 

"I'll see what I can find," Riza promised before slipping from the compartment. 

She returned with the cups of coffee and a pastry for each of them, and Roy set aside the papers he'd forgotten he was holding so he could eat. 

"Vato passed on some intel," Riza offered once they were both left with just their coffee, and she pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket inside her jacket. 

Roy held out his hand for it and she handed it over with the pen she'd pulled out earlier. "Anything else?" 

"A few things," she agreed and filled him in on the observations she had made while wandering Briggs before lunch and the gossip Havoc had managed to get from the soldiers assigned to their hall over cards. She eventually settled in to get some sleep after refilling Roy's coffee again, leaving him to look over Falman's notes in silence. 

Between the three of them, they'd come up with a few rumours trickling up from North City, most of them originating in other cities in the north, which bore investigation, and Roy made a few notes to himself on the back of one of the pages of Riza's transcript, so he wouldn't chance forgetting when he made to pass the news on to Breda or Chris. 

Falman had delivered four names that he remembered having strong ties to other members of the brass wandering Briggs, and two others that had struck him as suspicious. One of the suspicious ones Roy was about eighty percent certain answered to Grumman, though he'd have to check through the records, and he suspected the man was there as much to get an accurate report for the Führer, as he was to serve as a go-between if Amestris went to shit again. The other suspicious person Roy didn't have the first clue about, but he'd run the name past Breda before he went hunting through the records and upset one of the investigations he kept sneaking in under Lieutenant Colonel Fokker's nose. 

As for the four nearly certain spies, Roy would drop their names onto Alex's desk and leave it for him to get the word back to Olivier, though he suspected she was already aware of them. Still, she might be willing to confirm Roy's suspicions, and since three of the brass they were spying for were in Central, Roy could run his own covert surveillance on them. With any luck, he would know about it before they made any moves against Roy or his allies, and he could easily thwart them. 

Sometimes, Roy really hated the military, with its barely-visible anthills seething with suspicion and treachery, but a huge part of him enjoyed the games, the small victories found only in the glares his opponents threw him from across the officer's mess. A childhood living in the back of a brothel fronting an intelligence-gathering operation had left him with an honest appreciation for the flow of information that took place just under the surface of the military's stern-faced façade, and years standing at Grumman's side and watching him direct the flows of information to the ears where they'd do the most good had left him with a talent for making the use of every rumour that filtered up to him. 

If Father and Bradley had done anything right, it was to give Roy access to alliances he'd never have had the daring to go after before. From Grumman and the eastern forces, to the Armstrongs and Briggs, to Scar and the Ishvalans, to the current Emperor of Xing and his favourite half-sister, Roy's reach had nearly quadrupled in size over the course of a year. 

And now, again; because of Ed, he was on a first name basis with the crown princess of Drachma, which extended his reach up north, past Briggs and the mountains. If he could work treaties with Creta and Aerugo, even without the strong political ties he'd made this time, he would have more than enough power to do the one thing he wanted more than anything else: He could keep his people _safe_.

Roy leant his head down, towards the golden head resting over his heart, and whispered, "Thank you." 

Ed shifted slightly. "For what?" he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. 

"Being you," Roy offered, because Ed had been at least half the reason he'd managed an alliance with both Olivier and Emperor Ling. 

Ed's head tilted and Roy found himself looking into two spots of gold that were far more awake than his voice had suggested. They watched each other for a moment, and Roy saw understanding bleeding into the gold; whatever he was reading from Roy's own eyes clearly answered whatever questions his comment had given birth to. "Did you finish your coffee?" Ed asked at last. 

Roy felt himself smile. "Yes, but I should probably stretch my legs, if you want me to get you some." 

"Nah," Ed decided. 

"There's pastries," Roy added. 

Ed's eyes glinted with amusement. "That's more tempting." 

"I figured. Let me up?" 

Ed moved out of the way and, when Roy stood and stretched, got up to join him. Roy stopped long enough to shuck off his coat, since the rising sun outside was starting to warm the train and make it unnecessary, then led the way to the food compartment. 

Roy refilled his cup of coffee, then settled in on the cleared bench to watch as Ed shifted through the food offerings, picking out a bit of this and a bit of that. 

"Havoc filled me in a bit, during dinner yesterday – two days ago, whatever – about how people are," Ed said as he finally joined Roy on the bench, his hands full of snacks. "Military sort, but he said that, if I wanted to know about Al or Winry or the Hugheses, I needed to ask you." 

Roy shrugged. "Alphonse has been ringing by every few weeks since we got back to Central at the beginning of the year," he offered, because he doubted Havoc had bothered to explain _why_ Roy would have been keeping tabs on Ed's brother and mechanic. "He tells me about Rush Valley or waxes poetic about the beauty of the Xingan countryside for an hour or so, then asks if I've heard anything from you." 

Ed winced. "Ah. Sorry about that." 

Roy shrugged again, because Al's hour-long phone calls were one of the few non-military related calls he got at the office, and the only ones that Riza never complained about him taking, even going so far as to ask about them after he hung up. "I don't mind talking with your brother every few weeks, Ed, but I think we would all appreciate it if you would attempt to at least send some sort of sign that you're still alive once a month." 

Ed slouched down behind his food. "I know. I just..." He sighed and took an angry bite out of some dried meat he'd found. 

Roy considered him for a moment, waiting for him to swallow before offering, "Anya suggested you and Miss Rockbell had traded some promises before you left." 

Ed's cheeks dusted with pink. "Fucking Anya," he complained. "Is there anything she _didn't_ tell you?" 

"Very likely," Roy agreed. "We never quite got around to the list of every international incident you tried to cause." 

"Fuck you," Ed muttered as he straightened. "Yeah, fine. I asked Winry to marry me, in not quite so many words, and she agreed, in her way. About the time I crossed the border into Aerugo, I realised I fucked that up royally because, I swear, she's my best friend and I love her dearly, but the only things we have in common are my leg and Al, and the thought of actually sleeping with her did less than nothing for me." 

"Thank you for that trip through your psyche," Roy muttered into his coffee, vaguely wondering if he wouldn't be better served disobeying his own order and heading down to the civilian dining car to filch some of their alcohol. 

Ed flashed him a grin that was one hundred percent 'I'm going to make you regret starting this conversation as much as I am'. "Yeah, it was sort of like envisioning sleeping with Al, or Teacher. No." 

"Edward," Roy tried, rubbing at his eyes. "I haven't had nearly enough sleep for this torture." 

Ed let out a quiet laugh, and Roy felt the cup in his hand being replaced with what he discovered – once he opened his eyes – was a cheese pastry with the hints of colour that all of Ed's food seemed to develop, and he ate it quickly, half afraid it would revert to the unappetising greyscale if out of Ed's reach for too long. 

"I need to talk to her," Ed admitted from behind Roy's stolen coffee. "I don't want to have that conversation with her, because she's probably going to cry, and then she's going to beat me with a spanner, and then she's going to cry again, and I just– Ugh." 

"There are some conversations that only get harder the longer you put them off," Roy offered. 

"I know." Ed sighed and drew his knees up, hugging them against his chest and making him seem almost as small as he had the first time Roy had seen him, sitting broken in a wheelchair. But now, like then, like every time in-between when their wretched world had tried to crush Ed and Al beneath its figurative boot, there was a fire in his soul, something that lit his eyes even as they filled with tears he refused to let himself shed. 

Roy looked past Ed and his colours, out at the passing greyscale scenery beyond the window. "Elicia and Gracia are doing fine," he offered, and saw Ed's head come up out of the corner of his eye. "I promised I'd check in with them when I got back, if you wanted to stop by with me on the way from Command." 

"Yeah," Ed said, and there was a smile brightening his face when Roy looked back at him. "If they don't mind, I'd love to see them. Elicia's what, nine now?" 

"Ten," Roy corrected, allowing himself a fond smile. "Her birthday was shortly after I got back to Central, and she was so excited about having the whole team there, rather than just me. Miss Rockbell came up, too, but Al couldn't make it." 

Ed's gaze went distant. "Her birthday's the end of February, right?" 

"Yes. The twenty-third." 

"Okay." Ed clenched his hand into a fist, his eyes taking on a determined light. "I'll be there this time, I swear." Then he deflated slightly. "Does she even remember me? I mean, I haven't seen her since...since _before_."

Before the Promised Day, Roy knew. "There are pictures of you, on the mantle," he offered, and Ed put on a helpless sort of smile, "and she knows Al, knows you're brothers and look something alike. She might be a little uncertain at first, but I think she'll figure out who you are without too much trouble." He shrugged. "Either way, Gracia will be happy to see you again." He snorted. "Actually, if I give her an hour or so warning and pick up a couple quick things on the way over, she'd probably be willing to cook a large dinner, so no one has to try finding food in my kitchen." 

"Little empty?" Ed guessed. 

"A little. There's some non-perishables, and if one of the others sent word back to the office that we would be back today, Kain might well have done some shopping for me–" or Chris would have, more likely "–but there's not going to be enough for a full house." 

"Are we going to need to stop somewhere on the way there to get stuff?" Ed asked, frowning. 

Roy shook his head and made a mental note to send word to Chris as soon as they got in to the office that he would be housing some diplomatic guests and would appreciate someone filling his fridge for him. Her bill would be beyond exorbitant, but Roy could slide it across to Treasury for a partial reimbursement, if not a full one, given who was helping him eat the food. "No. I'll handle it." 

Ed sighed and knocked his head back against the train wall. "I feel a little bad, like we're putting you out or something." 

Roy considered that, then snorted. "No. When we first got back to Central, Heymans was so busy sticking his fingers in Investigations, he didn't bother looking for a place to stay, and he refused to just take a room in the dorms, so I put him up." 

Ed's eyes glinted. "How long?" 

"Three months." 

Ed curled around his knees, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and Roy let himself smile at the memory, though he'd been at the end of his rope by the time Havoc and Fuery kidnapped Breda for a weekend and forced him to find a place. 

"Yes," Roy said, "you have a long way to go before you can be quite the imposition that living with Heymans Breda for three months was. And I say that knowing that _you_ are involved." 

"Fuck you," Ed gasped out, clearly still trying to suppress his laughter. 

"Promises, Edward," Roy couldn't resist. 

"You're such a pervert," Ed complained with a groan. 

Roy waited until Ed had calmed down, then cautiously offered, "Ed, I don't want you to feel pressured to sleep in my bed." Because he knew Anastasia and Riza had sort of forced the issue, and as often as Ed complained about his teasing... Roy had been the younger lover, once, and while his partner had been considerate, there had always been a vague air of 'I did it because it was expected' about the encounter. "There's a camp bed somewhere–"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Ed moved across the empty space between them and yanked the empty coffee cup from Roy's hand, tossed it to the floor, then very firmly straddled Roy's lap so he was facing Roy. "I can _not_ deal with you being a good guy, Roy," he snapped, and Roy honestly couldn't say if the shot of heat that went straight to his belly was from hearing Ed use his name, or the biting kiss that Ed followed that declaration with. 

Roy couldn't stop himself from wrapping one arm around Ed's back, securing him in place, or using his other hand to force Ed's head to tilt the right direction that Roy could take control of the kiss, lapping his way into Ed's mouth and grunting when Ed proved that he was more than capable of catching his own hands – ungloved, better traction, Roy had _not_ thought this through – in Roy's hair and yanking it until Roy gave in and let Ed have the control back, submitted himself to Ed's will, Ed's tongue trying to trace its way down his throat, Ed's nails scratching lines of pleasure across his scalp–

Ed, grinding down hard into Roy's lap and very effectively bringing his cock to attention. 

"Ed," Roy gasped, somehow managing to pull himself away from Ed's mouth, and either Ed was a seriously fast learner, or he'd practised kissing with other people and that should make Roy jealous but it didn't, really, and– "Ed," he gasped again as Ed's hips rolled down against him, their lips brushing with every gasp for air, "the others." 

"Shut up," Ed ordered, breathless, and his eyes, when he opened them, had turned a deep, dark shade of gold, his pupils grasping for the edges of his irises. "Really don't care." 

Roy was finding he cared a lot less the longer he stared into those eyes, despite his better sense's last-ditch reminder that Riza was two compartments down and was going to shoot them both if she ever found out. It didn't take long for him to give in, turning his head so he could catch the fingers of his right glove with his teeth and yank it off with one hard pull, before spitting it to the bench and letting his fingers thread through Ed's hair, use it to yank his head back so Roy could nip along the column of his throat. 

Ed let out a hitched, broken sort of sound, the apple of his throat bobbing convulsively under Roy's lips, and he licked a line up the path that motion formed as Ed ground down almost-desperate into his lap, against his super interested cock, pressed the heat of his own erection against Roy's stomach, teased them both with the promise of what _could be_ if only they weren't stuck on a stupid _train_.

Roy muffled his groans against Ed's clavicle, nosing under the edge of his coat and jumper and sucking a patch of colour just out of public view, loved the strangled, half-suppressed noise Ed let out almost as much as he loved the bloom of red against his skin. 

"Fuck you," Ed gasped, and the hand in Roy's hair pulled his head back and to the side, away from the red mark, "marking me– Not your _dog_."

"No," Roy agreed before clenching his teeth over a groan as Ed licked a stripe down his jaw, scrapped teeth over the pulse point just beneath his ear. " _Hidden_ , Edward," he managed to force out, and Ed huffed out a breath against cooling saliva before obediently pulling aside the collar of Roy's jacket and shirt and latching on _hard_ with his mouth. 

Roy had just enough sense left to free his bare hand from Ed's hair so he could cover his own mouth, muffle the cracked cry he couldn't have silenced if he'd wanted to as his body tipped over the edge into glorious freefall. 

Ed must have come too, Roy realised as the aftershocks of pleasure petered off, because he was curled limply in Roy's lap. "Dammit, Ed," he whispered against the strands of gold hair that had pulled free of his tie. 

"Don't you dare start handling me like spun fucking glass," Ed ordered, pulling back so he could meet Roy's eyes, his own trapped somewhere between lazy-with-pleasure and hard-as-steel. "If I didn't want this, I'd have told all of you where to stick it." 

Roy brushed unruly bangs out of Ed's face. "Message received," he offered, trying for dry and almost assuredly falling short. He groaned and dropped his head back against the bench behind him. "I don't remember the last time I got off with clothing on, but I remember it being unpleasant." 

Ed snorted. "Give me your hands, bastard," he ordered, and Roy looked up at him as he did so, curious. "So," Ed continued, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, though his voice remained steady, "there's this trick I sort of learnt on accident, and I think–" He cut himself off with a sort of half-grimace, half-grin, then pressed Roy's hands together. 

An unfamiliar array bloomed in Roy's mind, and he felt his eyes widen as the energy for an alchemic transmutation was drawn through him. A tiny part of him demanded he fight the draw, but Roy shoved that down deep, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief as the light of a transmutation lit Ed's face, building blue between them. 

At the arc of the gathering energy, Ed pulled Roy's hands apart and pressed one against his own chest, the other against Roy's. The energy danced gently over his skin, cleaning away days of grime and the reminder of their most recent activities, before fizzling out to nothing. 

Roy met the bright gold eyes across from him. "You can do alchemy," he breathed. 

Ed reached up and gently cradled Roy's face between his hands, awe bright and beautiful in his eyes. "You trust me," he whispered, as if only just realising that. "You–"

"Of course I do," Roy agreed, rubbing the hand Ed had left on his chest up to rest over the blond's heart. 

Ed brushed his left thumb across Roy's cheek and leant in, as though imparting the greatest of secrets. (Roy could believe it.) "That's only the second time that's worked," he admitted, glancing briefly away before catching Roy's gaze again. "I never lost any of my knowledge, just my access to the Gate; I still know _how_ to do alchemy, but I need someone else's Gate to do it, and that means they have to trust me." 

"Edward," Roy said, quiet but firm, "in all the years I've known you, you've been, in turns, contrary, insubordinate, irritating, determined, loyal, and probably a hundred other adjectives I'm not halfway together enough to remember right now–" Ed let out a quiet laugh "–but the one thing I can say with absolute certainty, is that I have never once found you untrustworthy. Even when you kept me from killing Envy." 

Ed's eyes glimmered like he might cry. "Even you have to admit that would have been a shit life choice," he pointed out, his voice quavering. 

"It would have," Roy agreed, before pressing past the hands curled around his face and brushing a chaste kiss against Ed's lips. "Any time you want to do alchemy," he promised, "I'm here." 

Ed leant forward and curled around Roy, hiding his face against his shoulder. "I hate you," he whispered, and Roy was fluent enough in Edward Elric-ese that he knew Ed meant something very close to the opposite. 

"I know," he said, wrapping his arms tight around the man in his lap and wishing they could stay like that forever, comfortable and safe, the rest of the world little better than an afterthought. 

Eventually, though, Ed pulled away, blinking slowly, as though he was on the cusp of sleep. "We should go back to our compartment," he said, his words very careful, like he was trying to keep from slurring them. 

"How can you sleep?" Roy complained, even as he helped Ed to his feet and joined him, remembering to grab his fallen glove only because the array on the back was a sharp curl of colour against the bland grey of the bench and train walls. 

"Trained myself to sleep on trains," Ed replied as Roy got them back to the compartment they were sharing with Anastasia and Riza. "Also, you're warm and comfortable." And then he shoved Roy back onto their bench before curling up next to him in that position that was becoming far too familiar. 

Once Roy was settled comfortably, he glanced across the compartment at Riza. Her eyes were closed, but there was a smile playing about her mouth, and Roy knew she'd heard Ed's last remark. He sighed and closed his own eyes, letting his head tilt back against the bench, and wondering if he could manage to fall back asleep. 

.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone was awake and had eaten by ten. In a bid to keep Ed from falling asleep again, Anastasia dragged him back to the compartment Natalia had been sharing with the rest of Roy's team, the Drachman copy of the treaty clutched in one hand while she hollered for Kuznetsov. Havoc and Falman were booted out of the compartment to make room for all the Drachmans, and all of the military personal moved to the first compartment so they didn't have to raise their voices as much to be heard over the loud argument in Drachman. 

Roy made sure everyone was clear on the sleeping arrangements for the guests, made sure Francine was fine bunking over with Riza – she was; Roy hadn't really been that worried – then discussed the plans for their arrival, with several contingencies, depending on the greeting that awaited them in Central. 

With the business out of the way, Roy asked for their impressions of their visitors, since this was the first chance he'd really had to gather his team in one place since the meeting. Francine's inclusion in the discussion was both unanticipated and a boon, given her understanding of Drachman. 

Everyone had noticed, at one point or another, that both Kuznetsov and Natalia understood more Amestrisan than they spoke. Francine, who had spent most of the trip so far in the compartment with Kuznetsov, was quick to confirm Ed's belief that the man was fluent, though she also admitted that she hadn't heard him actually _speak_ Amestrisan. 

"You may have to transfer Andrea to Central to act as a translator," she offered. 

Roy didn't have to ask why Francine wouldn't agree to a transfer for herself; even if she'd been willing, for the sake of peace between Drachman and Amestris, Olivier would sooner castrate Roy than allow him to take away her spy in North City. "I'll see if Major Hollandus is willing to go north," he decided, shaking his head. Then he narrowed his eyes on Francine. "You realise your sister is going to end up in my command," he pointed out, because Francine had made it clear that she didn't have a high opinion of him. 

Francine flashed him a mean smile. "Yes, but you're with Elric, and everything I know about him says the minute you start flirting with someone else, he's going to deck you." 

Havoc barked out a laugh while Roy resisted a sigh; she wasn't wrong, and Roy realised he needed to have a long talk with Ed about his information network. 

Observations about the two bodyguards were varied, though everyone was fairly certain they had no more than the most basic of understanding of Amestrisan. They'd all noticed the tension between Ed and Orlov, and Francine had apparently overheard something that had her referring to him as a 'dirty swine of a man', something that Roy agreed to without passing on what he'd learnt from Anastasia. Havoc offered that he'd caught Orlov making eyes at Natalia not long after they'd first got on the train, but the Tsarevna had been aware, and Havoc hadn't been the only one to turn a glare on the bodyguard, nor was he the one to insist on a change of the original seating arrangement. (Roy made a mental note to check the locks on the guest rooms as soon as he got home, and to show both women where the guns hidden on the underside of each bed were, in case they felt the need for them; even if they didn't trust themselves to actually fire the guns, Roy knew most men would back off at finding a gun pointed at their face.) 

His team and Francine were far lighter on Lagunov, given that Ed didn't appear to actively dislike him. Francine had got some of his backstory out of him, and wasted little time in telling them that he'd been a member of the Drachman military before being dishonourably discharged for punching a superior, though he hadn't offered a reason for the violence. That Tsar Ivan had sent him with Drachma's ambassador to serve as a long-term bodyguard in a military-heavy nation, in spite of his bad record, suggested there was either more to the incident, or the Tsar was a lot less interested in a peace treaty than his daughters. (Roy suspected it was more likely the former, but he made a mental note to try and get the full story out of Anastasia or Ed while they were staying at his house.) 

Other than his clear understanding of their language, his team didn't have much to say about Kuznetsov that Roy hadn't already observed himself, like the man's obvious preference for office work. Francine added that he was well learned, and he appeared far shrewder one-on-one than he had acted at the meeting table. He was also quite vocal about his support of Anastasia as the next ruler of Drachma, something of an unpopular opinion among the Imperial Court, and Roy suspected they'd hit on the reason Tsar Ivan had sent Kuznetsov, rather than an ambassador who was more willing to speak Amestrisan. 

Natalia, Roy's team was quick to equate to Al. There was a certain air of gentleness around her, and it was clear that she desperately wanted this treaty to work out, but there was also a quick intelligence behind her eyes, and she had shown an iron will at the treaty table, untempered by Vickers' attack previous. She was also noticeably fond of both her sister and Ed. 

"She's the same age as Ed," Havoc added, his eyes comically widened. "And she's married to some duke or another." 

"Edward mentioned something about her being married," Roy agreed. He'd actually had her pegged as younger than Ed by a year or two, but he blamed that on how much she reminded him of Al. 

"It happens," Riza added, shooting Havoc a look that had him snapping his mouth shut. 

Roy had spent the most time with Anastasia, though Francine was willing to report that, while the Tsesarevna had appeared far more cautious of Roy before the incident with Vickers, she had shared that Ed spoke well of him. Havoc passed on, from Natalia, that Anastasia was thirty and very determinately unattached to anyone. Also, that she had a bad habit of vanishing into the lower Imperial City, to their father's unending horror, which was where she'd met Ed, and explained some of the comments the two had made over breakfast in the mess. 

Roy, after a moment of debate with himself, shared her problem with her suitors – and Ed's solution for them, mostly to make Havoc cackle and the two women in the compartment share vindictive smiles – and that she had fought hard to keep Ed in the Imperial Court before Tsar Ivan had got used to him. 

As for Ed, Roy's team had all noticed his maturity, though Havoc was quick to point out that Roy was still perfectly capable of dragging the old Ed out. 

"You realise," Francine said as Havoc fell quiet, "that he is more loyal to Drachma than you." 

Roy shrugged and nodded, seeing the other three also nod their agreement, with Havoc adding, "Well, of course." 

Francine blinked, clearly startled. "You don't care that your friend is working against you?" 

"Were we at different peace meetings?" Havoc asked. "Because I'm fairly certain we're all on the same side." 

"Right now," Riza interrupted, "the Drachmans need Edward on their side far more than we do." 

"This isn't about loyalty or sides," Roy offered, and Francine wasn't the only one to frown at him. "This is about promises." Understanding bloomed for his team, but Francine still looked confused, so he explained, "Edward believes in holding to his promises, no matter what. He promised to keep Tsesarevna Anastasia safe, so he's not going to do anything that will put her in danger; he promised to act as a translator, so he's going to give them the most accurate translation of what we say, even if that means using four years of learning to read my body language to give them an edge." Andrea had warned him at one point during the meeting that Ed was doing that, and Roy had been forced to admit, at least to himself, that he should have expected that. 

"Huh." Francine sat back against the bench. "I'd wondered why things weren't more tense between you," she admitted. "What about his promises to you?" 

"Unlikely to be affected by anything that happens in relation to this treaty." 

Francine snorted and closed her eyes. "Well, then." 

Conversation turned, after that, to things they could show their guests to in Central. Francine hadn't been in Central since she'd received her original posting out at Briggs, so she didn't have much to contribute, but she was clearly happy to offer scathing commentary about some of Havoc's joking suggestions. 

As the city limits of Central became visible outside the window, Roy dismissed everyone to collect their things and – if Ed hadn't done so himself – break up the discussion two compartments down. 

It was with unending gratitude that Roy found Breda leaning against a pillar directly across from the door into the compartment car, rather than a line of soldiers; apparently, Grumman had either shot down all demands for a welcoming committee at the station, or had 'forgotten' to make sure everyone knew when the train was coming in. Either way, Roy was honestly grateful and, by the knowing grin that bloomed across Breda's face as he straightened to deliver a lazy salute, he hadn't hidden it sufficiently. 

And then Breda's eyes went wide, staring over Roy's shoulder, and Roy had the necessary proof that, indeed, his team was made up of children who took great joy in 'forgetting' to inform each other about missing friends popping home. " _Ed_?!" Breda called. 

Ed let out a laugh, a few steps behind Roy and slightly to his left. "Hey, Breda." 

"Lieutenant Colonel," Roy called, before things could devolve, because he really didn't want to stand in the middle of Central Station with a group of foreign dignitaries. 

Breda forced his attention back on Roy and nodded, before turning and motioning for the group to follow him. "As per Colonel Hawkeye's orders, I procured four vehicles. Fuery's holding down the office and managing anyone who gets curious about my long lunch." 

"Good. When are we expected at Command?" 

Breda's confused look was all for show as he responded, "For some reason, Führer Grumman seems to think your train won't be arriving for another three hours." 

Since Grumman had been perfectly aware of when their train was due in to Central when Roy had spoken to him before lunch the day before, it was clear that the Führer had decided the best way to keep the brass from swarming the station with members of the military, was to just spread disinformation about their arrival time. "Perhaps his listing of train times is incorrect," he mused. "I'll warn his secretary." 

"Yes, sir." 

As they approached the line of cars, the three corporals standing next to the doors all saluting as soon as they saw them, Roy told Breda, "Take Ambassador Kuznetsov and his guard to the embassy, and we'll pick you up on our way in." 

"You got it," Breda agreed, before leaving Roy to divide the group into cars, while he settled in next to the unattended vehicle. 

Since Havoc lived just down the block from Riza, Roy sent him with the colonel and Francine. Falman lived in the dorms, which were a little too close to Central Command to avoid notice, but he'd insisted he didn't mind carting his suitcase with them to Command, so Roy sent him in the car carrying Natalia and Orlov, while Roy rode with Ed and Anastasia. 

It wasn't a long drive to Roy's place, not because he was particularly close to the station, but because his neighbourhood was home to shops that didn't commonly open until after most people had got off work for the day, so traffic was minimal once they turned off the main roads. 

"I don't think I've ever seen this part of Central," Ed commented as they stopped outside of Roy's unusually-large-for-the-area townhouse. 

"No," Roy agreed, "this was never your scene. Corporal." 

"Sir?" 

"I can't promise how long we'll take, but you're welcome to remain in the car or come in." 

"I'm happy to remain in the car, sir, but Corporal Focke may prefer to wait inside." 

Roy nodded and stepped out onto the pavement as the rest of his car and the other one also unloaded. "Major!" he called, and Falman immediately turned to him. "Give Corporal Focke his options." 

"Sir!" Falman ducked back into the car to do so. 

When Roy went to retrieve his suitcase, he found that Ed had already absconded with it, and both he and Anastasia had started towards the front door. With a sigh, Roy joined them, pulling out his house key as he went. "There's a place for shoes around the corner," he directed as he opened the door, because he had never been inclined to invest in a maid service, but he hated cleaning the floors. The simplest solution, therefore, had been to make everyone remove their shoes before traipsing through the house. 

The corporal from the other car was the last person to enter, following Falman. "Corporal, you're to remain on the ground floor, and if you leave the entryway, take off your shoes, or you'll be spending your next day off cleaning my floors, am I clear?" Roy told the man as he closed the front door. 

"Yes, sir, General Mustang," Focke agreed. 

Roy left him to it, toeing off his boots and placing them neatly among the scattering of other shoes, then went to hunt down his houseguests. 

He found everyone in the study, Ed translating as Falman gave them the verbal tour. Given Falman's usual approach to detail, Roy figured he had enough time to check how bare his kitchen was. Which, well, it was pretty bare, and he took a moment to sigh over it before returning to collect Ed, Anastasia, and Natalia from the study. 

Roy waited until they reached the top of the stairs before offering, "Both guest rooms are fairly similar in layout." He pointed to two of the three opened rooms. "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc swears the one on the right, closer to the bathroom–" he pointed at the only closed door on the landing "–is larger, but he's the only one who thinks so. You're both free to pick whichever room you'd like, but first, I'd like to show you both something." 

The sisters traded glances, but gamely followed Roy into the left-most guest room, which shared its wall with his own room, while Ed leant against the doorframe. Roy led them to the bed, then knelt down next to it. "In case you ever need it." He smoothly slipped the gun from the harness on the underside and showed it to them "Both rooms have one." 

"That is clever," Anastasia murmured, kneeling next to the bed herself and peeking underneath to get a look at the harness. 

"Colonel Hawkeye insisted there be a few hidden around the house, in places I might be caught off guard," Roy admitted, slipping the gun back away. "There's a false book in the study that I'll have to point out, one under the kitchen sink, and one in the cupboard in the front hall, should you need them." 

"Your room?" Anastasia asked. 

Roy shrugged. "My gloves are faster," he said, before getting to his feet. "We have two hours before we should leave, so feel free to take some time to freshen up. I'm afraid there's nothing in the kitchen, but you may be able to talk Major Falman into running down to the shop and picking something up, if necessary." 

Anastasia smiled up at him. "Thank you, Roy." Behind her sister, Natalia also offered him a grateful smile. 

Roy inclined his head. "Ladies," he offered before joining Ed. 

"Thank you," Ed murmured as Roy led him into his own room. 

Roy shrugged. "I can rig something up for you, if you'd like?" he offered, motioning towards the bed. "Not for a gun, I expect–"

Ed snorted. "Sure. I usually just keep one of my throwing knives under my pillow if I think I might need it, but I'm as likely to tackle an assailant as throw a knife at them, so it doesn't really matter either way to me." 

"Well, I'll put something together and you can use it or not, as you please. I'd like to avoid any knives under pillows, if possible." 

Ed shot him a smirk as he dropped both of their suitcases on the bed. "Afraid you'll find it the hard way?" he asked as he flicked his wrist in a very familiar way and an almost-familiar blade slid into his hand. Roy had no idea what expression he was wearing, but Ed offered him an understanding smile as he held the knife out. "Yeah," he said as Roy took it, "given my dislike of guns and preference for in-close fighting, this seemed like a good fit." 

"Disliking guns was why Hughes picked knives, too," Roy offered, turning the thin weapon over in his hands, getting a feel for the shape and weight. "Since he ended up in Intelligence, no one cared what weapon he carried, so long as he carried _something_. I'm fairly certain he never actually bothered to pick up the service revolver or the holster." 

"Knew I liked him," Ed joked. 

Considering Ed's penchant for hand-to-hand combat, as opposed to Roy's own preference for distance attacks, he knelt next to the side of the bed closest to the door out into the hall to transmute a sheath for the knife. "I think Gracia still has his old knives," he commented as the flare of alchemic light died down and he could test the knife with his creation. "She'd probably be happy to give them to you, if you wanted to ask for them." 

Ed knelt next to him, watching as Roy made a small correction. "I don't know. I mean, I wouldn't want to take anything of his she was keeping." 

Roy shook his head. "Ask her. Knowing Gracia, she'll prefer to know they're getting used." 

"Yeah, okay." Ed accepted the knife back when Roy held it out, and they both got to their feet. 

They stood there for a moment, Roy uncertain what to say next while Ed took a very obvious look around the room. Finally, he cleared his throat and offered, "Bathroom's through there, feel free to clear a space for your toiletries. There should be room in the cupboard, if you've got anything you want to hang up, and I can clean out a drawer for you in the dresser tonight." 

Ed shot him a vaguely startled look. "I doubt we're going to be staying that–"

"Edward," Roy interrupted, "this isn't just for one visit." 

"I–" Ed blinked, clearly at a loss for words. "Oh," he settled on. 

Roy didn't resist the urge to reach out and cup Ed's cheek with one hand, and he was gratified when Ed relaxed into the touch, his eyes falling closed. "Unpack as much or as little as you want," he murmured, "and if you want to leave anything here, I'll keep it safe. Whether you want to treat this as your home or not, it's here." 

Ed sort of swayed forward, towards Roy, and he caught him without having to think about it, wrapping the blond in his arms and holding him close. Ed returned the hug without any hints of uncertainty, even as he whispered against Roy's chin, "I'm not sure I remember how to have a home." 

"I never thought I'd have anyone who could also call my home theirs," Roy whispered back. "Guess we'll have to figure it out together." 

"Yeah." Ed leant up to brush a quick kiss to Roy's lips, then pulled back and took another look around the room, this one clearly more meant to decide what he could change to make the space more his own. Strangely, Roy found he didn't mind that, almost _needed_ Ed to do something, as though if he changed something, he would be more likely to stay. 

And Roy really needed to stop that thought process right there, because Ed was going to go travelling again, and letting form the hope that he wouldn't was only going to see Roy hurt. 

He cleared his throat and started pulling off his gloves as he turned to the cupboard. "I'm going to change, then see about making some phone calls." 

"Gracia?" Ed guessed. 

Roy nodded. "And a neighbour who I trust to get some food." 

"Natalia has a mild allergy to shellfish," Ed warned, and Roy glanced back at him. "It's not fatal, by any stretch, but she'll be a misery for days if she has any." 

"Not usually something I invest in," Roy replied, "but I'll make sure to specify that's off the menu to both Gracia and my neighbour. Anything else I should watch out for?" 

"Yeah, go easy on the chili powder." 

Roy snorted, remembering the comment about the cook in the Imperial Court. "I think we can manage that," he agreed before returning to getting undressed. 

Ed vanished into the en suite bathroom as Roy pulled off his shirt, and he suspected it was more to keep either of them from getting distracted, rather than a bout of shyness. Either way, since there wasn't that much to do in the bathroom, Roy finished changing his bottoms and shirt quickly, knocking on the bathroom door as he switched over the contents of his trouser pockets. "Clear." 

Ed made a face at him as he opened the door. "Yeah, thanks." 

Roy brushed his hand along Ed's jaw, secretly delighting in the skin-to-skin contact that he hadn't had nearly enough chances to enjoy, then stepped back towards the door out into the hall. "I'll go make those calls," he offered. 

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off so I can change in peace and make sure all the best pillows are on my side." 

Roy snorted and retreated to the phone in the ground floor hall, across from the pile of shoes. The corporal who'd come in with them had clearly come further into the house, because there were three pairs of military-issue boots lined up neatly beside the pile of mismatched northern boots. 

He turned his back on the pile and quickly set about dialling the number for the shop that Gracia worked in during the day. _"Goldenrods and Marigolds!"_ the chipper voice of the shop's owner answered. _"This is Kimberly, how can I help you?"_

"Hello, Kim," Roy offered in his most charming voice, "it's Roy. Is Gracia around?" 

_"Roy! Hi, sweetcheeks!"_ she chirped, and Roy barely resisted the urge to wince at her pet name of the week. _"She's with a customer right now, but I can have her ring you back right after. Maybe ten minutes?"_

"Please do. Tell her I'm at home right now." 

_"Sure thing, sweetcheeks!"_ Then she hung up. 

Roy rubbed helplessly at the bridge of his nose with one hand as he tapped down on the cradle, then started dialling his aunt's private line, because ten minutes should be just enough time to ask for a grocery run. 

_"This better be important,"_ Chris snarled when she picked up. 

Roy winced, realising he was calling while she was usually asleep. "I apologise, Madam," he offered smoothly. "This was the first chance I had to ring you." 

There was a beat of silence, then, _"Roy-Boy? You back in Central?"_

"Yes." He glanced towards the small side table clock that someone – he suspected Fuery – had set next to the phone at one point months ago. "My train got in about forty minutes ago." 

Chris huffed. _"Fine. Cut the pleasantries; why are you ringing me first thing?"_

"I'm housing some guests and I have no idea when I'll be able to make a grocery run," Roy admitted, because when Chris Mustang said 'cut the pleasantries', she meant 'get to the point before I hang up on you and unplug the phone'. 

Chris grunted and Roy caught the distant sound of shifting paper and the click of a ballpoint pen. _"Numbers? Specifications?"_

"Four, though one of them has a habit of eating for two," Roy added drily, and heard his aunt let out a snort of amusement. "No shellfish." 

_"You hate shellfish,"_ Chris pointed out. 

Roy sighed. "One of them is allergic." 

_"Fine."_ The ballpoint pen clicked again. _"I'll send Helen and Emily out as soon as they can drag their asses out of bed. Should be there around three."_

Roy nodded. "Thank you. Tell them to leave the bill on the refrigerator." 

_"You're not coming by tonight?"_

"Probably not," Roy admitted, because between the lack of sleep on the train, and having his house full of guests that he was partially responsible for the safety of, he couldn't really see going by the pub. Honestly, he wasn't sure he should go by at _all_ while the Drachmans were staying with him, for the added security, but if he didn't go to Chris, she was liable to come to him, and the last time she'd done that, he'd been woken at 04:30 by his aunt and three of her women using his pots and serving utensils to start up a marching band at the bottom of his stairs. 

_"Fine. We'll see you when we see you,"_ Chris decided, before unceremoniously hanging up. 

Roy sat the receiver down in the cradle, then leant back against the wall next to the table the phone was on. He glanced up and found Anastasia standing at the bottom of the stairs, one eyebrow raised. "Asking a neighbour to get me some food while we're stuck at Command." 

She nodded. "A good plan." 

The phone rang. 

Roy picked it up and offered a much gentler than he would have done in the office, "Mustang." 

_"Roy!"_ Gracia said, sounding quite glad. _"I half thought Kimmy was pulling my leg, saying you were back in Central. Elicia will be so happy."_

Roy relaxed back against the wall, unable to help a fond smile. "I'm not the only one who's back: I found Ed up north." 

_"Is he okay?"_ Gracia pleaded. 

"He's fine," Roy promised, and she let out a relieved breath. "He made friends with the Drachmans and came as their translator." 

Gracia let out a quiet laugh. _"Of course he did. Is he headed down to Rush Valley?"_

"No, Al and Miss Rockbell are coming to us; part of the delegation suggested they would be interested in seeing Central. I'm putting up Ed and a couple of the senior members at my house." 

Gracia's laugh was less quiet and far more knowing that time. _"How many am I making dinner for tonight, Roy?"_

"Five." 

_"I think I can manage that, if you pick up a salad mix from your mystery supplier."_

Roy snorted, since his 'mystery supplier' was one of the cooks who served the officer's mess at Command; she'd taken to complaining, back when Roy had first been transferred back to Central as a colonel, that he didn't eat enough greens, so she was happy to make up a salad for him any time he asked for one. "Of course." 

_"Good. So, five-thirty? Six-thirty?"_

"Let's plan for six, and if things get hectic, I'll have Riza ring you," Roy decided. 

_"Is she coming?"_

"I didn't ask her," Roy admitted, and Gracia tutted at him. "I'll offer when I see her at the office," he promised, "but that will make seven." 

_"I can handle seven dinner guests, Roy Mustang."_

Roy coughed to hide the laugh he couldn't quite smother. "You're a wonder and a marvel and a pearl without price," he insisted, and Gracia let out a bright laugh. 

_"Charmer,"_ she returned. 

"Always. Charge something to my account for the table?" Roy suggested. 

_"I can do that,"_ Gracia agreed, and Roy knew she'd discount the flowers, like she always did when he wasn't buying them for a date (or, well, information gathering meeting disguised as a date), which was unnecessary, but sweet of her. _"We'll see you tonight."_

"I look forward to it," Roy promised before hanging up the phone. 

"Was that Mrs Hughes?" Ed asked, peering around the corner just a little past where Anastasia was considering Roy with a curious frown. 

"It was," Roy agreed, and Ed's face lit up, while Anastasia smiled in understanding. "She's happy to make dinner for everyone tonight." 

"That's because she's awesome and probably knows the state of your kitchen," Ed returned, and Roy shrugged, because that was true. To Anastasia, Ed asked, **"Is Natalia still upstairs?"** in Drachman, and Roy was actually kind of impressed that he'd understood him. 

"Da." 

"We don't need to leave quite yet, Ed," Roy called after him as the blond vanished back around the corner. 

"If everyone's ready, we might as well!" Ed called back, and Roy could hear his mismatched steps on the stairs. 

Roy glanced down at the half of his uniform he was wearing and sighed. "I suppose that's true," he admitted, and Anastasia let out a quiet noise of amusement. He cast her a knowing smile. "You're ready?" he asked her. 

"More than you are," she agreed, and the gold specks in her eye glittered. 

Roy snorted. "Could you round up the gentlemen down here for me?" he requested and, when she nodded, he left her to finish changing. "Edward," he called at the top of the stairs, and he poked his head out of the guest room closer to the hall bathroom. "Everyone's numbers are on a sheet in the drawer just under the phone." 

"Call Hawkeye and Havoc?" Ed guessed. 

"Please." 

"Sure," Ed agreed before turning to rattle off some Drachman to Natalia too fast for Roy to catch, while Roy continued to his room to collect his butt cape, jacket, and gloves. 

Everyone was gathered by the time Ed had hung up the second time and turned to say, "The colonel's going to call the embassy while she waits for Havoc, then they're headed over here." 

Roy nodded. "We'll wait in the cars," he declared and everyone obediently filed outside to do so. 

As he locked his front door, Roy sent up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that everything went smoothly. 

-0-

Whatever gods watched over Amestris – or, at the least, Roy Mustang – had chosen to be kind, for once, and the visit at the military had gone smoothly. Richard Bess, Roy's fellow full-general, had somehow managed to assemble the rest of the brass into something approaching a mature group of men and women who had the power to control the future of their country and used that power for the good of the people – yeah, Roy almost laughed at that one, too – and when they were dismissed after the initial introductions, they actually left. (Roy suspected he owed Bess a fruit basket. At the least.) 

Forewarning Anastasia that their Führer was slightly extravagant had been a good choice, because Grumman had been in rare form, caught somewhere between more-than-slightly-addled and entirely too amused by himself, which wasn't unusual, and Roy knew it was at least half a front to hide the man's terrifyingly keen intelligence, but still had a tendency to put off people who were meeting him for the first time. But Anastasia had appeared to find him charming, which Roy couldn't help but suspect was related to how Grumman had insisted on referring to Ed as 'Major Elric', no matter how much Ed had – mostly jokingly – insulted him. 

The only minor hiccup had been the minor corrections the Drachmans had made to the translation Ed had typed up, which Roy suspected had been due to him rushing, rather than a flaw in his understanding of the language (which Orlov had been quick to suggest, as translated by Francine). Falman had somehow managed to track down a typewriter with the Drachman alphabet, and Ed had typed new copies of the pages with corrections, occasionally snarling insults when one of the Drachmans came over to check on his progress. 

While Ed had been typing, Roy had put forth Gracia's offer for Riza and Francine to join them for dinner. The two women had traded looks, then politely declined, Francine insisting, "I really just want to find a bed and collapse into it, but please pass on Andrea's greetings for me." Roy had agreed, and Riza suggested he ring Gracia and update her, while Riza herself went down to the officer's mess and ensured there would be a salad for Roy to take with him. 

They had ended the day at the office with the treaty signing – which Grumman insisted, despite them having come to Central, Roy sign instead of him, and Roy took that as yet another sign that his commanding officer was intending to retire soon, no matter his jokes about holding onto the position until he died of old age – and Grumman approving a week of paid leisure time for Roy and his team, since, "You already have such an inspiring rapport with our Drachman guests, it would be an insult on my part to assign them someone unfamiliar to show them around Central while you're stuck under a pile of paperwork." 

Roy didn't even bother pretending he wasn't grateful. 

After collecting the salad from the kitchens, Roy led the way down to his car, which he'd left in the military garage while he'd been up north, so the street-cleaning crew didn't bitch at him if he was still away when they came down his street for their weekly pass. "Sorry about the tight fit," Roy offered as Ed, Anastasia, and Natalia crowded into the back, Anastasia holding the salad, while Orlov settled into the front seat with Roy. 

"At least Al's not here," Ed suggested, and Roy let out a laugh of remembrance as he pulled out of his space. Ed glanced back, then deadpanned, "You actually wrote your name on the space." 

Roy shook his head. "Any general with a personal vehicle gets their name on a space," he explained, slowing down slightly and motioning to where they could see Brigadier General Dinah Hashim's labelled space. 

"Well, that's a cheat," Ed complained. 

Roy shot him an amused look in the rear-view mirror. "Why do you even care? Even when you were in the military, you refused to make use of the military's cars." 

Ed waved a careless hand at that. "It was easier to walk everywhere than get into a debate about letting a civilian who wore a giant suit of armour use military transport. I mean, you guys didn't care, but there were a couple of people in carpool who got testy the first few times we tried, so we just decided to walk." 

Roy frowned. "You should have told me." 

Ed scoffed. "Why? You were in East, and it wasn't that big of a deal, Mustang, really." 

"You still should have told me," Roy insisted. "Ed, you were a State Alchemist; you were just as entitled to using a car as you were to entering the library, and no one ever tried to stop Alphonse from going in there, did they?" 

"Once," Ed admitted, "but I–" he coughed "–had words with them." 

"I rest my case," Roy muttered, and got a gentle punch to the shoulder for, doubtless, being a smarmy bastard. 

They all piled out at the Hugheses, and Roy led the way upstairs to their flat, taking his gloves off as he went, because Elicia always complained they were scratchy. He knocked a rapid pattern on the door – an old habit Maes and he had developed at the academy, to let each other know who was coming in, which Gracia had quickly adopted – then unlocked it with his key. 

"Uncle Roy!" a gleeful voice cried, and Roy didn't even manage to get the door open all the way before Elicia was jumping at him. 

Roy caught her with a fond chuckle, wrapping her in a hug while she clung to his neck. "Hello, Princess." 

She pulled back to shoot him an imperious look. "Today," she declared, "I am a _pirate captain_."

"Apologies, Captain," Roy corrected and she grinned at him. "Permission to board?" 

"Granted!" she agreed, and Roy carried her back into the flat – and she was really too big for this, but Roy didn't have the heart to say he wouldn't carry her any more – the others following them. 

Once he'd heard the front door close, Roy carefully resettled Elicia so he could hold her with one arm, then tweaked her nose, earning him a face. "Captain, I hope you don't mind that I brought some friends with me," he offered. 

Elicia clearly considered that, looking them over. Her eyes stopped on Ed and she frowned. "Who's he?" she asked Roy, pointing at the blond. 

"That's Ed, Al's brother. You remember him, right?" 

Elicia gave that a moment of consideration, then let out a noise of understanding and scrambled out of Roy's hold before dashing down the hall and around the corner into the living room. Roy had enough time to shrug in response to the confused looks the others wore, before she was back, carrying one of the photos from the mantle. "Big brother Ed!" she declared, waving around that same photo that Roy and Anastasia had found in Ed's journals, of him standing with Al and Miss Rockbell before the brothers left to travel the world. 

Ed leant down slightly, grinning the same way he was in the picture. "Yup. Last time I saw you, you were only this big." He motioned with his hand against his knee. 

"Nuh-uh! I was never that little!" Elicia declared, pointing at him with the photo. 

"Of course you weren't," Roy agreed, carefully taking the photo from her before she could break the frame. 

Ed considered her, tilting his head to one side slightly. "I dunno. It was a long time ago. Maybe you _were_ bigger and I'm just misremembering?" 

Elicia gave a vigorous nod, then jumped towards Ed. He caught her with a grunt, looking somewhere between surprised and grateful. 

"Hey, so," Ed said after a brief moment of hugging, turning slightly towards the Drachmans; Anastasia and Natalia were both watching with wide smiles, while Orlov looked cautiously charmed, as though he couldn't actually resist Elicia's charm, but he didn't like that she was so happy about Ed. "Captain Elicia, this is my super best friend ever, Anya, and her little sister, Natalia. And the grouch in the back is Fedor, but don't let his face scare you too much, okay?" 

And it was probably for the best that Orlov couldn't actually understand Amestrisan, because Roy suspected that would have caused a fight, otherwise. 

"Anya, Natalia, Fedor," Elicia repeated, pointing at each one, "Big Brother Ed, Uncle Roy, Elicia!" she finished, looking so pleased with herself, Roy sort of wanted to hug her until she demanded down. 

Ed and the two princesses laughed. "Excellent," Ed praised, and Elicia beamed. "Oh, so–" Ed lowered his voice "–Natalia has trouble speaking our language, but she can understand you fine, okay? And Fedor is too stupid, so don't bother trying to speak to him at all." 

Elicia looked vaguely horrified. "He can't speak?" 

Roy cleared his throat. "They're from Drachma, to the north," he explained, and her eyes lit up, showing she recognised the name of the country. "They speak a different language there. If you want to talk with Natalia or Or-Fedor, you can ask Anya or your big brother to translate for you." 

Elicia blinked wide eyes at him. "Not you, Uncle Roy?" 

Roy shook his head. "I'm not very good at it, but Anya and Ed are teaching me." 

Elicia's eyes lit up and she informed Ed, "Grownups have to go to school too." 

Ed grinned. "Sometimes," he agreed. 

Roy rolled his eyes, then ordered, "Shoes off, then come on in." So saying, he slid off his own boots, then took Elicia to go put the photo back while the others followed suit. 

Ed clearly remembered the layout of the flat well enough, for Roy found everyone in the kitchen, Ed introducing Gracia to the Drachmans. As soon as Ed was done, Elicia started telling her mother all about how Ed had lied about how big she'd been and that the Drachmans were from far away where they spoke another language and they didn't speak Amestrisan and wasn't that _weird_?

Roy kissed Gracia's cheek as she listened to Elicia chatter, then walked over to the cabinets to get dishes for the table. 

Ed joined him after a moment, his eyes shining. "She is fu-freaking _precious_."

"Yes she is," Roy agreed, handing over the stack of plates so he could get the flatware. 

Ed drooped slightly. "I wish I'd been here more," he admitted. "I wish _Hughes_ was here." 

Roy reached out and cupped Ed's cheek. "I know," he whispered as Ed leant into his hand, because he knew all too well how much it hurt to look at Elicia and see the empty space where her father should have been. 

Gracia cleared her throat and Ed jumped and pulled away, flushing faintly. She smiled from where she'd stopped behind him, bracing her hands against his shoulders to keep him from unbalancing because of the plate. "That's new," she offered, sounding very much approving. 

"Go pry into someone else's private life," Roy ordered, rolling his eyes, because Gracia had wasted little time, once Roy had got back from Ishval at the beginning of the year, in taking up Maes' old torch and trying to get Roy to settle down with someone. 

Gracia scoffed at him. "I'll pry all I want, Roy Mustang, and you'll _like_ it." 

Ed failed miserably at muffling a laugh against the plates. 

Gracia kissed his cheek. "Go save your friends from my daughter," she ordered, and Ed took the offered escape route while Roy turned back to the flatware drawer. "Roy," she warned, amusement escaping the kitchen with Ed. 

"What do you want from me, Gracia?" Roy asked quietly, because he knew that tone, had heard it when she told him he would be signing the paperwork to be Elicia's godfather, had heard it when she visited him in hospital a week after the Promised Day, when someone finally told her he was blind, had heard it when he'd told her he was going back to Ishval. "He's not a child." 

"That doesn't mean he doesn't need someone to threaten you," Gracia retorted, reaching out to catch his hands, pulling him around to face her. Roy frowned at her, but she just looked back and forth between his eyes, reading who knew what, because she'd learned him from Maes, and she might not be able to read him quite the same way he had done, but she was better than everyone, save Riza and Chris. 

"Okay," she said at last, letting him go. 

Roy felt his jaw tighten, couldn't have helped it if he'd tried. "Okay?" he asked. 

She nodded. "You're right, he's not a child any more." 

Roy narrowed his eyes at her. "It's not like you to give up so easily." 

"I'm not giving up," she told him, turning away, "I'm just satisfied." 

'About _what_?' Roy wanted to ask, but he'd known Gracia long enough to know when he wasn't going to get anything else from her, so he huffed and turned back to snatch at the flatware, taking his anger out on it so he could put on a smile for Elicia when he went back to the others. 

Other than Gracia's little chat, dinner was a success. Elicia was enthralled with the idea of another language – Roy learning Cretan had been very much outside the norm for a childhood in Central; outside the norm for a childhood _anywhere_ in Amestris, really, but some of the border towns would have immigrants willing to pass on their native language to curious neighbours – and she kept pleading for Anastasia and Natalia to speak it and teach her some and how did they say this particular word that she'd just learnt in school that week. The princesses were game to play along, both clearly enjoying teaching the girl, and Roy wouldn't be surprised if there followed an uptick in interest in Drachma at the primary school Elicia attended, given how excited she was about the whole thing and how unashamed she always was to share things that made her happy. (She was very much her father's daughter, and Roy could never thank the universe enough for leaving behind this little piece of his best friend.) 

Gracia managed to get some stories out of Ed, about his travels outside their borders. He only told stories that had little or no danger to himself, Roy noticed, but it was more than he, himself, had found time to drag from the blond. (Given, he hadn't found much time to ask for stories, with the treaty work and Ed's habit of falling asleep on trains.) Anyway, he'd received enough verbal and written reports about the former alchemist's adventures to know that Ed never told the full story and always lied about the danger to himself, as well as the damage he caused. And while none of them really cared about structural damage in Aerugo or Creta enough for Ed to feel the need to hide that – and Roy really hoped Ed was less destructive now that he couldn't clap his hands together and bring down a building – Orlov was the only person who didn't have a vested interest in Ed's personal safety, so Roy _knew_ he was going to downplay that. 

After dinner, they all retired to the living room for coffee, and Gracia managed to get in some questions to Anastasia – mostly about Ed, though some about the princesses themselves – while Ed played translator for Elicia and Natalia. Anastasia was happy to tell of some of her and Ed's more bandit-worthy adventures – apparently, the two had cemented their friendship by breaking into liquor shops and vandalising the buildings owned by gangs, which Roy couldn't even _pretend_ to be surprised about, though he expected a few brawls had also played a part – and she also deigned to fill in some of the gaps in Amestris' knowledge of the Imperial Court, and Roy was going to have to get her to tell it all to him again when he had somewhere to write it all down, because he wasn't sure he had the mental capacity to remember everything right then. 

Which turned into a sign that they needed to head back to his place, because while Roy had never felt ashamed about crashing on Gracia's couch when he was too tired to trust himself to drive home, he couldn't do that when he was hosting other people. So he rounded everyone up, consented to one very wet smooch on the cheek from Elicia, and took everyone home. 

Once everyone was back inside at his house, he stopped them from dispersing to say, "Until I get up and shut off everything, don't open any outside doors or windows. And if the phone rings, let it; it's probably my team checking to see if it's safe to drop by." 

" 'Shut everything off'?" Anastasia asked. 

Roy shrugged. "Alchemic traps, of a sort." So saying, he turned back to the front door and pressed a finger against the miniature array that had been carved into the wood just above the top hinge, activating the chain of arrays that circled the front of the townhouse. They, and the set in the back, which he went to activate right after, didn't go so far as to seal the outer doors and windows, but if they were activated by someone trying to get in, they would do so, and set off a series of miniature explosions meant to get others away from the building and also wake up Roy. Riza had tried to get him to make the explosions more severe than they actually were – they would only do, at worst, damage that a first aid kit was sufficient to treat – but Roy hadn't wanted to chance some neighbourhood kid unintentionally setting one off and getting sent to hospital. 

Of course, as he'd been quick to point out to her, if he really wanted a secure abode, he'd need to set something up in the walls he shared with his neighbours. He'd reinforced all of his walls by adding a layer of steel between them – an adventure which had required two weekends of dragging in steel beams bought from a warehouse on the other side of the city, then tearing down his walls until he hit the thin layer of bricks that acted as sound insulation between the buildings and a façade along the back and front of the building, transmuting the steel into place, then replacing the wall – but anyone who was determined enough to get to him that they'd go through a neighbour's house wasn't going to be stopped by steel for long. 

The roof, on the other hand, he'd secured without concern, peppering it with a series of arrays that would set off a chain reaction which should, if the attackers were standing on the roof anywhere, trap them with tar, then set them alight. A layer of fire-proof material had been added to the eaves, with another layer of steel just under it, to help keep the roof from caving in if someone decided to try dropping an explosive on top of his house. 

So, really, his house wasn't quite the secure fortress Riza had painted to Ed on the train, but Roy – and Ed, when you got right down to it – was a fighter, and this was his home; he didn't want a building to hide in, he wanted to know when to step up and defend his property. 

While he was in the kitchen anyway, he checked on his food stocks and was pleased to find that his aunt's women had been very, _very_ thorough. Which, well, she _had_ said she was sending Helen, who had a habit of mothering absolutely everyone and knew Roy far too well to expect he'd have more than a half-bag of rice and some tins of vegetables left. 

The bill had been left on his fridge, as requested, with a listing of each shop they'd gone to, what it had cost, and Chris' usual added charge for labour – based entirely on how much it cost to rent each woman for the allotted time period for sex – then the total written underneath. He sighed at the total, which was expectedly high, and debated how much of the bill he was going to pass on to the treasury as he pulled it down and carried the paper upstairs. 

"What's that?" Ed asked once Roy made it to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. 

Roy waved it in his direction. "Food bill." 

"Oh, yeah, you said you were going to get a neighbour to do it," Ed recalled as he took the paper. His eyes went wide when he saw the total. "Holy _shit_ , Mustang. What did you do, hire prostitutes to do your shopping?" 

Roy choked out a laugh – he could admit that he hadn't expected Ed to get that from the high cost of labour, and he really needed to remember that the young man wasn't a teenager with zero interest in sex any more – and started working on his jacket. "Funny you should ask that," he said by way of admission. 

Ed's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, wrapping one hand around Roy's right wrist tight enough that he couldn't quite stop a wince. "Why doesn't it surprise me," he said quietly, "that you know some prostitutes well enough to–"

"Edward," Roy interrupted just as quietly, meeting the gold eyes – swimming with anger and hurt – without flinching. "I know what you think, and you're wrong." 

Ed's eyes flashed and he quickly released Roy, making to step back before Roy stopped him by grabbing both of his wrists. "So you're not just using old flings–" Ed started. 

" _No_ ," Roy hissed, squeezing Ed's wrists in a bid to shut him up for a minute. "They work for my _aunt_ , and she charges me the same thing she charges everyone else because she's a business woman and she knows I know that if I don't pay her back every last cenz, she'll make my life a misery." 

Ed just stared at him, his jaw clenched and his eyes unreadable. 

Roy sighed and let him go so he could run his hands through his own hair; this was not how he'd envisioned this conversation going, but he really should have known better than to expect Ed to make this easy. "My aunt, Chris Mustang, owns a pub with a brothel upstairs. At least half her regular clients are in the military, and she passes on what her ladies learn to me. I have never slept with any of those women once my aunt employed them, though I've taken all of them out to dinner at least twice, as a cover and because they deserve to be taken out sometimes by someone who's not expecting them to put out at the end of the night." 

Ed relaxed slightly. "Not once?" he asked, and he sounded so hopeful. 

Roy swallowed and admitted, "One of my aunt's current ladies, Emily, I knew before she came to work for my aunt, and some of the other women, in the past, met the madam through me. But once she's hired them, no, I don't sleep with them." 

"Well that's...something," Ed decided, but he was still keeping his distance. 

Roy took a deep breath, then offered, "Ed, what happened on the train? That's the most action I've had, other than my own hand, since I lost my sight." 

Ed's eyes went wide before he set about staring at Roy, as though trying to find the lie, to spot Roy's angle. But all Roy wanted was to be honest, to keep Ed from stalking out the door and finding somewhere else to sleep, and Ed eventually relaxed the rest of the way and stepped forward to finish undoing Roy's jacket. "You're a pain in my arse." 

"Sorry," Roy whispered. "My reputation has always been more to cover my intelligence sources than based on any truth." 

Ed snorted as he started on Roy's shirt, managing the buttons with the sort of halting care of someone who wasn't used to undressing other people. "So, what, you're not a manwhore?" 

Roy winced. "I'm not that bad," he tempered. "I've maybe slept with a fourth of the women I took out." 

Ed shot him a flat look. "You're not endearing yourself to me, bastard." 

Roy shook his head. "I'm not trying to–" Okay, so he didn't really want Ed to walk out on him. "I have discovered," he settled on, "that you react far better to the truth. Even when the truth is–"

"Fucked up?" Ed suggested. 

"Painful." 

"That too," Ed agreed before sliding his hands under Roy's shirt, pulling it out from his trousers as he encircled Roy's waist with his arms, not showing any reaction to the burn scar covering a horrifying portion of Roy's left side. But, then, Roy didn't suppose Ed had even been the sort to flinch away from scars. "How tired are you?" 

Roy allowed a faint smile even as he leant forward, pressing his forehead against Ed's. "I'm probably going to fall asleep as soon as I lay down." 

Ed let out a sigh that was at least half for show. "Fine. Make up sex will have to wait until morning." 

Roy let out a quiet laugh and pressed a curled finger under Ed's chin so he'd look up enough that Roy could brush a kiss against his lips. "I think I can accept that," he agreed. 

Ed snorted and leant up to press a much firmer kiss against Roy's lips, then pulled away before either of them could get any ideas. "Finish changing," he ordered, before turning towards the bathroom. 

Roy sighed and did so, only leaving on his boxers before he climbed into bed, feeling too tired to worry about personal hygiene. 

He was just starting to drift off when he felt the bed shift next to him, and Roy turned over, reaching for the warm body that came willingly. "Ed," he thought he murmured before letting go of the waking world. 

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn this chapter. :D If that makes you uncomfortable... First off, why are you reading high-rated slash? Second, the scene is cut at FFN, so do feel free to read there.
> 
> The mention of past sexually abusive encounters is in this chapter, directly before the porn. Slim on the details, but it is there. 

_Skittering darkness bled across Roy's dreams, unveiling Gracia in monochrome, a too-cruel smile on her face as she chortled, " **I** killed him! I killed Hughes!"_

_But when Roy snapped his fingers, he found himself standing before those terrible stone doors, and they were creaking open–_

"Roy!" 

Roy sat up with a gasp, clutching at the racing beat of his heart, eyes wide to stare at the familiar shadows of his bedroom. 

"Hey," said a quiet voice, the same one he'd heard calling his name, and Roy remembered Ed was there with him, that he wasn't alone in his room, wasn't alone in his _house_.

"Did I snap my fingers?" he asked, and his voice was rough, like it had been dragged over hot sand. 

Ed was quiet for a moment, then, "No." 

Roy turned to him, finding the faint hint of his colours, muted by the darkness. He was sitting up too, his chest bare and his hair laying loose over his shoulders. "Don't lie to me, Edward." 

Ed leant forward, just enough that it was hard _not_ to see the steel in his gaze. "I'm not lying," he said. "You looked like you were about to, but you never actually snapped." 

And Roy...believed him. He closed his eyes and let himself half-fall forward, against Ed's chest. "Thank god," he whispered against Ed's skin, warm and alive and _not burning_.

Ed's arms wrapped around him and Roy felt a kiss pressed against the top of his head, before Ed whispered into his hair, "Everyone's safe." 

Roy took a deep breath, taking in the scent of machine oil and the dozen other hints of flavour that made up Ed, let himself settle after the nightmare, so much faster than he was used to. Usually, when he'd wake from a nightmare, he'd have to walk his house, maybe make himself a snack, read some alchemy books or look over intelligence reports until either his eyes started to grow too heavy for him to stay awake, or it was time for him to go to work. But this time... "Thank you," he whispered, already feeling the drag of sleep. 

"Yeah," Ed whispered back. "Al always used to calm me down. Pay it forward, right?" 

'I don't have Al any more,' Ed didn't say. 'I know what it's like to wake up alone and terrified. To be a human weapon; to clap my hands in my dreams and wake up afraid I'd done it in the real world.'

"Yes," Roy agreed, and fell back into sleep's embrace as he felt Ed lay them both back down, Roy still wrapped in the warm comfort of his arms. 

-0-

The next time Roy woke up, it was to an insistent bladder and Ed, sleeping peacefully on the pillow next to Roy's. One of his arms was draped over Roy's side, covering the burn, while Roy had pressed his hand against Ed's chest, over the gentle beat of his heart. 

With a regretful sigh, Roy pulled away from the peaceful warmth of the other man and went to appease his body. 

When he got back to the bed, Ed's eyes were open. "Good morning," Roy offered quietly, slipping back under the covers, because he'd already seen the time and it was too early to be up. Which wasn't to say that he was particularly tired, after daring the cold tile of his bathroom, but he had no interest in actually declaring himself _up_ when his alarm wouldn't have gone off yet. 

Ed gave him a sleepy smile. "Mornin'," he murmured, sliding across the bed and pressing himself against Roy. His morning erection was a rather obvious warmth against Roy's thigh, and he felt his own cock twitching in interest. "Think I 'member somethin' 'bout make up sex?" 

Roy's chuckle curled up from his chest even as he wrapped an arm around Ed's waist, locking their lower bodies together. "I think I remember something about that, too," he agreed. 

"Good," Ed decided before a hand caught in Roy's hair and held him still for a kiss that was anything but sleepy. 

Roy groaned into Ed's mouth, pressing them even closer together. And, oh, his body was awake now, his cock nestling quite happily next to Ed's between them, and Roy couldn't quite resist a twist of his hips, rubbing them together. 

Ed let out a needy sound as he pulled his mouth away. "How thin are these walls?" he gasped out. 

Roy swallowed, tried to bring some of his blood back to his brain so he could parse out speech again. "About average," he managed at last. "How noisy are you?" 

"Shut up," Ed said, his eyes gleaming. "Trust me?" 

"Of course," Roy agreed, not even needing significant blood flow to manage that. 

"Give me your hands," Ed ordered. 

Roy did so, struggling a little to get his right hand out from where it'd got trapped under Ed's hips against the mattress. Ed wasted no time in clapping Roy's hands together, and a vaguely familiar array – construction alchemy, not unlike the one he'd used to fix his walls after he'd put in the steel plating – flashed through Roy's mind. The energy built between them, seeming so much slower than when Roy was using it himself, and a distant part of him wondered if it was actually taking longer, or if his perception of time was skewed because someone else was manipulating his connection to the Gate. 

As the energy peaked, Ed reached up and pressed their hands against the wall, sending the light of a transmutation arcing outward from their point of contact. If Roy concentrated, he could sense the changes Ed was making, manipulating the materials in the walls to make them more sound-resistant. 

"Steel?" Ed murmured, sounding impressed. 

"Protection," Roy whispered back. "Don't do anything to it." 

"I won't," Ed promised. 

After another moment, the alchemy fizzled out, and Roy felt Ed relax against him. The focussed attention elsewhere had been enough to ease some of Roy's arousal, but he knew that wouldn't last long, not with Ed pressed, half-naked, against him. "Tell me what you want," he requested, skimming one hand down Ed's extended arm and side. 

Ed let out a pleased hum and arched into the touch, and arousal sparked over Roy's nerves anew, heading straight south. He must have made some sort of noise, because Ed let out a quiet chuckle and pressed a kiss to the pulse point under Roy's ear before pulling back and meeting his eyes, a challenge glinting gold in his own. "I want to fuck you," he said. 

Roy swallowed, honestly a little uncertain about that, because he'd only ever actually had three male partners, and all of those encounters had involved a healthy – or _un_ healthy, considering – side of dominance, and the only time Roy hadn't been the dominant, he'd sworn would be the last time. 

But this wasn't the academy barracks or a rough fuck in a sandy tent just beyond a war zone, this was _Ed_. And, yeah, maybe there was a struggle for dominance between them – always had been, always would be – but that wasn't _this_. And Roy knew, above anything else, that he could trust Ed not to hurt him. 

"Okay," he said. 

Ed watched him for a moment, and a part of Roy wondered if – hoped – he was about to retract his request. But he didn't, leant in and pressed a surprisingly gentle, compared to usual, kiss against Roy's mouth, and there was a very clear 'thank you' in that. "Where's your nearest thing of lube?" Ed whispered. 

Roy choked out a laugh, because maybe he wasn't, as Ed had called him, a 'manwhore', but the blond definitely had his libido pegged. "Bedside table, near the back of the drawer. I don't know where any condoms are, though." 

Ed blinked, looking a bit like he hadn't even thought of that. "You said you've been abstinent for a while, right?" 

Roy grimaced. "Yeah." 

Ed nodded. "It's been at least six months for me, and when Anya dragged me to the Imperial Court physician before we left–" he scowled at that, and Roy almost laughed, because he _knew_ how much Ed liked doctors "–all of my tests were clean. You willing to chance it?" 

Roy had already agreed to letting Ed take him, and that long of a wait... "Yes," he decided. 

Ed nodded before asking, "Which one?" and pulling away to glance between the two tables on either side of the bed. 

"Either," Roy admitted, and Ed laughed as he leant back, giving Roy a glorious view of his body stretched taut, and grabbed for the drawer behind him. Roy, because he could, reached out and ran his hand along that expanse of skin, marked with dozens of scars from years of fighting for his life. Most of them were small, but there were a few larger ones, and Roy was vaguely relieved to realise he could account for the attached hospital time for each of them, or had heard about them from Breda and Fuery after Father had fallen and they were all stuck in hospital – the idea of Ed having to go to hospital in a foreign nation, without Al there to serve as a second set of eyes, was not one Roy really wanted to consider overmuch. 

"You," Ed complained as he slid back down, next to Roy, drawer left hanging open and a familiar tube in one hand, "are a fucking master at distraction." 

"Likewise," Roy returned, because Ed had been an excellent distraction even before he'd grown into something Roy's cock was happy to jump to attention at the sight of. 

Ed scoffed, then kept Roy from pushing his point by nipping his way into Roy's mouth, one hand pressing back against Roy's left shoulder to get him on his back, and then stretching out over him, a surprisingly comfortable weight. 

Mismatched legs – automail and flesh – tangled with Roy's, making it difficult for him to gain enough leverage to press up against Ed, but he managed it, rubbing their cocks together through the fabric of their pants, groaning quietly at the tease. 

Ed nipped hard at Roy's bottom lip as he pulled back slightly. " _Fuck_. And you were always bitching about _me_ being impatient." 

"Well you–"

"No more talking," Ed ordered, and Roy could feel Ed removing his own boxers. 

"You start–"

"No one wants to hear what you have to say, Roy," Ed interrupted, and it was only because he'd used Roy's given name instead of the more familiar 'bastard' or 'Mustang', that he fell silent and let Ed divest them both of their pants. 

Ed sat back on Roy's thighs for a long moment, just looking at him, appreciation clear in the lust-darkened gold eyes, and Roy found himself feeling vaguely uncomfortable; either he was seriously out of practise, or his last partner's distaste for the burn on his side had made a greater impact on his self-confidence than he'd thought. 

Ed caught his gaze, quirked a knowing smile, then folded himself forward in an amazing show of dexterity, and licked a long path up the longest part of the burn, pressing a kiss against the top edge as Roy let out a noise that sounded a little like a sob, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. 

"You realise," Ed said, as he leant up, hovering over Roy, his eyes so _honest_ , "that you're ridiculously gorgeous, right?" 

Roy grabbed for his old self-confidence, a little worn around the edges, but still serviceable, and put on a smirk. "Of course I am," he agreed, and hoped he was the only one who could hear the tremor in his certainty. 

Ed let out a breath that could have been a sigh, then sealed their mouths together, swallowing the sound Roy couldn't quite bite back as hands ran up his front and curled around his back before sliding back down, as firm against the scar as on the unblemished skin of his right side. As Ed's hands reached his hips, the blond pulled away, sliding down his body, and Roy didn't quite have the chance to anticipate him before a warm mouth was wrapping around the head of his cock. 

Roy's automatic buck was mitigated by the ridiculously strong hands that had pressed down on his hips, but there was nothing to silence his helpless gasp of, "Ed!" And Ed only glanced up, eyes gleaming, when Roy brushed his hand over his head, fingers threading through his long hair and barely having the sense not to pull. 

He hadn't registered Ed's left hand leaving his hip, but he absolutely noticed when it returned, sliding under his thigh and resting lightly against his entrance. 

Ed's mouth left him with an obscene pop. "Roy," he called, "look at me." 

Roy met the startlingly-gold eyes, forced himself to breathe in, breathe out, relax muscles he hadn't even noticed tensing. "You've done this before," he guessed, and his voice was rough, though whether that was from arousal – which was singing warmly through his body – or stress, he couldn't begin to guess. 

Ed's head tilted. "Yes," he admitted, and the new angle of the faint ambient light coming in through the closed blinds lit the faint hint of a flush across his cheekbones, though Roy couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or arousal. 

The expected surge of jealousy, while there, was muted under an unexpected tide of comfort, as though the certain knowledge that Ed wasn't going into this blind made all of Roy's uncertainties...not void, but far less important. 

Ed's mouth kicked up at one side, a hint of a smirk that was more of a smile under the fond light in his eyes, and then he took Roy back into his mouth and proceeded to show off his rather exceptional deep throating technique, and Roy didn't even _care_ how much practise he'd needed to figure that out because _fuck_. He'd known a few women who could deep throat, over the years, sure, but not one of them had ever looked half so good doing it as Ed did _right then_ , his eyes gleaming with what looked like amusement or pleasure or both – Roy wasn't quite sure he _cared_ – Roy's right leg curled over his shoulder and Roy's hand covered in the gold strands of his hair; gods, Ed just _glowed_.

And then Ed drew back, his tongue swirling around Roy's tip; the only warning before pleasure shot through him, Ed's finger – finger _s_? Were there more than one now? – crooking at just the right angle inside him, and his thumb pressing hard against Roy's taint at the same time. 

He wasn't even sure he'd managed to get a warning off before he was coming hard, gold and red filling his vision, too-bright, because he was fucked, so _fucked_ , and he didn't even _care_ any more. 

"Dammit," Roy managed, once he found his words. And Ed had a bad habit of drawing obscenities out of him, didn't he? 

Ed let out a quiet laugh, and Roy looked down to find the blond still between his legs, his eyes bright with something that was very obviously mischief, even as he said, "Whoops." 

"Brat," Roy said, and it came out far too fond, which he blamed entirely on the vaguely floaty feeling he was still enjoying. 

"I'm going to let that slide," Ed told him, before the pressure of fingers in Roy's anus – which he'd actually got used to – vanished and Ed sat up, his left hand pulling the tube of lube out of the sheets next to him. "See," he said in a conversational tone that was _almost_ irritating, "now you're not as likely to tense up." And then he put on a rather smug smirk, which only wavered a little bit as he stroked his length, covering it in a fine layer of slick. 

But, instead of going right for the deed, he leant up and ghosted his lips against Roy's, holding his gaze. "Okay?" he asked. 

Roy lifted his right hand to cup Ed's cheek. "Not spun glass," he murmured. 

"No," Ed agreed, "you're just _old_."

Roy really, _really_ wanted to react to that, beyond just pulling his hand away from Ed's face, he did, but Ed started pushing into him, then, and while it didn't _hurt_ , it was very noticeable. Too, the faint hint of strain on Ed's face, like pushing into Roy slowly required every ounce of his not-impressive will, caught Roy's attention. 

Ed bottomed out with a quiet, "Fuck," and Roy reached up, brushing his fingers against the crinkles of skin at the corner of Ed's eye. Ed turned his head and pressed a kiss against Roy's palm, his hands flexing against Roy's hips, loosening a grip that Roy honestly hadn't noticed until it had eased. "Tell me when," he breathed against Roy's palm. 

Roy leant up slightly on his left elbow, using his right hand to motion Ed forward until they could share a brief kiss. Ed tasted of Roy's spend, and it should not have tasted anywhere near as arousing as Roy's body thought it did, because his cock was twitching hopefully. (Roy was not _old_ , and his libido was going to _prove that_.)

Ed huffed out a laugh against his mouth. "How are you thirty-fucking-six? I've slept with twenty-year-olds with longer refractory periods." 

"Shut up about my age," Roy ordered, because he was turning thirty-seven in a couple months and he _didn't want to think about it_. "I'm good. You can–"

The drag of Ed's cock out of him cut him off, cut his _breath_ off, and when Ed pushed back in, teasing sparks along his prostate, Roy gave up on leaning up on his elbow, falling back onto the sheets and forcing his right arm to stay up, his fingers curled in long strands of golden-blond while his palm cupped Ed's cheek, bringing him to keep staring in Roy's direction, keep holding his gaze, because, _gods_ , Ed was beautiful. 

Ed's mouth quirked and he turned his head just enough to press another kiss against Roy's palm. "You're not–hah–too shabby to look–hnn–at yourself," he got out, and Roy blinked. Ed's smile widened. "Brain-to-mouth filter shot?" 

"You'd know all about that," Roy breathed back, and Ed let out a gasping little laugh. 

But that was the last truly coherent comment either of them made for quite some time. 

After... After Ed had come, after Roy had come again – and he reserved the right to feel smug about that when he had more energy – and they were curled up together on Ed's side, away from the damp spot, Ed murmured, "Ya tebya lyublyu." 

It took a moment for Roy's brain to engage and, first, recognise that Ed had spoken Drachman, then translate what he could of it: 'ya' was 'I', and 'tebya' was 'you'. "What's 'lyublu'?" 

"Lyublyu," Ed corrected, something odd in his voice under the hint of amusement. "I'll tell you eventually." 

Roy sighed. "I can just ask Anya," he muttered against Ed's shoulder. 

Ed's hand on Roy's side, which had been tracing what felt like arrays against his scar, froze, and Roy could feel a very subtle tensing of the muscles across Ed's shoulders. "Please don't," he whispered. "If she tells you on her own, that's–" His breath hitched, and Roy pulled back to frown at him, only for Ed to duck his head, hide his face behind the fall of his hair. 

"Okay," Roy agreed, because he really didn't know what else to do. What word could Ed _possibly_ be so desperate to keep from him? "I won't ask her. Or either of the Kozlovas or Tsarevna Natalia." 

Ed still wouldn't look up at him, but he very obviously relaxed and whispered, "Thank you." 

Roy was trying to figure out what to say next, how to get Ed to come out from behind his hair, when the blond's stomach helpfully let out a loud rumble. Ed peeked out at him, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and resigned, and Roy let out a laugh. "We have food now, if you're hungry," he offered. 

Ed put on a smile that eased something that had tightened in Roy's chest. "Extremely _expensive_ food," he insisted before rolling smoothly out of the bed. 

"The food was a fair price," Roy corrected as he climbed out of bed with far less natural grace. "It's the service charge that's going to make me go broke." 

Ed snorted. "Yeah, so, why _is_ your aunt a–" He paused, frowned back at Roy. "Is there a word for a woman who sells other women?" he asked, his tone dry. 

Roy coughed. "Madam," he offered, turning to the challenge of finding something he could wear around the house, but was also fairly quick to change out of, when everyone was up and they could take their visitors for some sightseeing. "She was a working girl when my parents died," he explained, "but she realised there was no way she could raise a four-year-old with that life, so she used what money she'd had saved up and everything from my parents and bought herself a pub." He shrugged. "She didn't actually bill herself as a madam until a couple years later, when her old pimp got thrown in jail and all the women she'd worked with before came to her, asking if she could use some extra hands to tend the bar or bus tables. It sort of evolved from there." 

"You grew up in a brothel," Ed deadpanned, and Roy glanced back to see his amused stare. "That explains _so_ fucking much about you." 

"I expect so," Roy agreed, and Ed laughed before they got down to the business of getting dressed. 

When Roy opened the clothes cupboard, though, he was in for a surprise, as the light creeping in through the windows lit up the blue of his uniforms. "Oh," he heard himself say. 

"Oh?" Ed repeated, and Roy felt him move closer as he touched the familiar blue, the blue that he hadn't been able to _see_ for the past couple of days, that he'd honestly expected to not be able to see for at least another four days. "That's your uniform, Mustang," he deadpanned from Roy's side. 

"It's blue," Roy offered. 

"Of course it's–" Ed stopped and leant forward. "Colours are back?" he guessed. 

Roy cleared his throat and forced himself to let go of the sleeve he'd been holding. "It appears so." 

"Good. It's a little creepy, when you think about it, that you're always staring at me because I'm the only thing in colour for you," Ed declared, stepping away. 

"I'd stare at you anyway," Roy offered over his shoulder, before taking a long, appreciative look down Ed's half-dressed form. 

Ed gave him a bland look. "Put some fucking trousers on, you pervert," he ordered, and Roy turned back to continue getting dressed with a laugh. 

Once they were in the kitchen and Roy was pulling things out for breakfast, trying not to pay too much attention to the array of colours (it was always a struggle, the day his colour vision returned), Ed asked, "So, am I ever going to meet your madam?" 

Someone coughed in the doorway and Roy glanced over to find Anastasia standing there, looking both intrigued and uncertain. "Did I pick a bad time?" she asked. 

Roy sighed. "Thank you for that, Edward," he muttered as he turned back to making breakfast. "He's asking about my aunt." 

"She runs a _brothel_ ," Ed stage whispered, and Roy suspected he was going to regret telling his lover anything about his aunt. 

"She runs a _pub_ and manages working girls." 

"Brothel!" Ed sang back at him, entirely too gleeful, and Anastasia started laughing. 

"Where are my gloves?" Roy muttered, and Ed snickered before suddenly popping up just behind Roy and pressing a kiss to his cheek, then escaping. 

Anastasia stepped up next to Roy after a moment, staying carefully out of his way. "He has fled, I think, to wake Natalia." 

"As long as he's not irritating Orlov," Roy muttered to the eggs. "I don't really have any interest in repairing my study first thing in the morning." 

Anastasia laughed. "I would hope he is wiser than that, but..." 

Roy sighed. "Trust me, I know." 

Anastasia snorted and leant against the worktop. "How likely are we to receive recognition?" 

Roy blinked. "How likely are you to be recognised?" he guessed. 

Anastasia breathed a word that Roy had heard Ed use enough times to suspect it wasn't polite. "That, yes." 

Roy considered his pan for a moment, then shrugged. "Not very. Military intelligence, prior to meeting you at Briggs, had the names of your father and brother, the fact that there were three daughters who were older than Prince– No, wait, I'm sorry. What's his title?" 

Anastasia offered him a pleased smile. "Tsarevich." 

"Thank you. We knew that Tsarevich Mikhail had three elder sisters, and there had been a question of inheritance. Reports as to who will end up inheriting the Imperial Chair have been fairly mixed, but you'll find most of the military believes your brother will inherit." 

"That is also the wish in much of Drachma," Anastasia admitted, and she sounded tired. "Batya, I think, had hope that if I would sign the peace treaty, it would be proof that I am a good choice for Tsaritsa." 

" 'Tsaritsa'?" Roy repeated, because it was yet another variation on a royal title that he hadn't heard before. Or, well, he _assumed_ it was a royal title. She'd explained on the train, when he'd thought to ask, that 'Batya' was what she and her sisters called their father. 

"You would call it 'queen'?" 

Roy nodded his understanding. "I can't speak for Drachma," he offered, "but I suspect you'll do a fine job." 

Anastasia's smile was equal parts tired and grateful. "Thank you, but it is little help." 

"I know." Roy focussed on food preparation for a moment, then offered, "In answer to your original question: I very much doubt anyone outside my team and the brass – the generals you met yesterday – will recognise yourself or Tsarevna Natalia. Word that two Drachman royals are in Central will eventually filter down from the military, but you'll have a couple days of anonymity. Avoiding using your family name and limiting the use of spoken Drachman will also help, though I'm aware that's easier said than done." 

"What's easier said than done?" Ed asked, announcing his return, just before a hand snuck the plate Roy had been dishing food onto off the worktop. 

Roy sighed and moved over another plate to fill. "Anya was asking about the likelihood of being recognised while we're viewing Central." 

"Right," Ed said, his mouth clearly full of food. He must have swallowed quickly, though, because his mouth was empty when he said, "Well, Elicia and Mrs Hughes didn't recognise you, so I think you should be fine. We can avoid your last name, and if Mustang and his team'll stop it with the titles–"

"I'll make that suggestion to the others," Roy interrupted drily. "Jean will be so happy; he's having a terrible time getting his tongue around your titles." 

Ed choked on a laugh. "Poor Havoc." 

Roy glanced back at him and sighed to see he'd almost emptied the plate while standing in the middle of the floor. "There is a perfectly good table behind you, Edward. Just because you were raised on a farm–"

"I was raised on an _orchard_ , you _bastard_ ," Ed shot back. 

"I distinctly recall sheep. Also, a cow." 

"Fuck you! Those belong to one of our neighbours!" 

"The Rockbells?" Roy enquired. 

Ed huffed and dropped the empty plate onto the worktop next to Roy. "You know, just because you grew up in a place where you take two steps and you're in your neighbour's garden, doesn't mean we all have to live like that." 

"You like my city," Roy pointed out, because Ed had shown a distinct preference for cities over the course of his travels, and he'd often gone out of his way just to check on something in Central Library. 

"Fuck off." 

"Ed," Anastasia interrupted, very obviously amused, **"is Natalia awake?"**

**"Yeah. She was–"** and Roy didn't understand the rest of that. 

Anastasia said something back, and all Roy caught were the pronouns. Whatever it was, it made Ed huff and stalk from the room loud enough that they could hear his footsteps recede down the hall and, Roy suspected by the change in tone, towards the stairs. 

"I told him," Anastasia said, "that he has had his firsts, so he will wait until everyone else has eaten before he has his seconds." 

"And thirds," Roy muttered. "And possibly fourths." 

Anastasia laughed. "If he is still so hungry, he should make his own food, yes?" 

"Yes," Roy agreed. 

"Then he will not be so hungry." 

Roy chuckled at that. "I didn't think he'd picked up any cooking skills." 

Anastasia sighed. "He has claimed he can eat fine in the wild, but he should not need to learn in the cities, where there are others to cook for him." 

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Roy admitted before offering a full plate to her. "Go ahead and sit down." 

"Spasibo." 

Roy had filled another plate by the time Natalia made it to the kitchen, Orlov close behind her, and it didn't take long to make up a plate for him, which the guard took out of the kitchen with a brief 'spasibo'. Ed was just stepping back into the kitchen, one of Roy's alchemy books held open in front of him, as Roy finished making his own serving, and he suspected it would be a while before Ed started looking for his seconds, so he turned off the hob and joined the princesses and Ed around the small kitchen table. 

Of course, as soon as Roy sat down his plate, Ed was reaching out towards it, but Roy grabbed the hand in his and held it prisoner while he settled in to eat, to the clear amusement of both princesses. 

"How is it that the title of Führer is passed down?" Anastasia asked once Roy had finished most of his food and finally freed Ed to pick at the leftovers, an action which had earned him a glance of amused gold from behind the book. 

Roy frowned. "The Führer has almost always been killed by his successor." 

"Pochti?" Natalia asked. 

"Almost?" Anastasia said, and Roy suspected that had been as much a translation as a request for clarification on Anastasia's part. 

He folded his fingers together and braced them against his chin, glancing between the two princesses for a moment before settling on speaking to Anastasia. "The first Führer in Amestris history vanished without a trace some twenty years after the founding of our country, and was succeeded by a man he'd groomed for that position." 

Ed sat his book down with a thump. "I didn't know that," he admitted, and Roy glanced over at him. "You think–?"

Roy shrugged. "Maybe." Because after finding out about Father, that unusual succession had made him a lot more suspicious, especially since they didn't have any records about the first Führer, beyond his accomplishments. Turning back to Anastasia, he continued, "Our last Führer, while killed in office, wasn't succeeded by his killer." 

Anastasia nodded. "I did not think your Führer Grumman to have been the sort to kill for the seat." 

Ed snorted. "Not for lack of trying," he muttered. "Wasn't he behind exploding the bridge?" 

Roy raised his joined hands slightly to hide his smirk. "No." 

"Holy _shit_. How many fucking plots were you masterminding?" 

"Well," Roy amended, "it was more of a joint plan. Our original plans had to be changed when Bradley attended the training exercise himself. Grumman was the one who decided to use Bradley's distrust in me and the influx of Ishvalans to spook him back towards Central, but the ones who blew the bridge were more loyal to me than to him." 

Anastasia and Natalia were both glancing between them, eyebrows raised. "This was a...how do you say, perevorot?" 

"Takeover," Ed offered. "And, yeah, it was." 

Roy gave a careless roll of his shoulders. "At any rate, the one to ultimately kill Bradley was a wanted Ishvalan we call Scar." He glanced at Ed, who snorted. "However, Emperor Ling of Xing and Lieutenant General Armstrong are both quick to insist that their subordinates died to deal him a near-fatal blow, which made him easier for Scar to kill." 

"And Greed," Ed murmured quietly enough that Roy suspected he was the only one who would have heard. 

"Yes," he replied, just as quietly. 

"This Scar, he did not wish to claim the title?" Anastasia asked, frowning. 

"Oh, now there's a happy can of worms," Ed said, far too cheerfully. 

The Drachmans clearly didn't understand the idiom, but Roy just shook his head. "Scar never had the interest to rule Amestris, only getting revenge for his people. From something he said to me while we were rebuilding Ishval, he had never expected to survive that fight." 

"How _did_ he?" Ed asked, licking his finger and using it to get some crumbs off Roy's plate. 

"Olivier ordered some of her men to drag him back to the mansion and brought in one of her family doctors to care for him there. Grumman pardoned him once she admitted to housing him, given his part in events," Roy explained, before lightly offering, "There's some frozen fish in the icebox, and I can make you a campfire, if you'd prefer." 

"Fuck you." Ed shoved his shoulder just hard enough to make Roy sway slightly, but not enough to actually hurt. "Prove you're a man and make me something else to eat." 

"That's not how this works," Roy insisted while the princesses laughed. 

"Okay, fine. Prove how awesome you are with fire by cooking me something." 

Roy was saved from continuing that particular discussion by the phone ringing. "Hold that absurdity," he suggested as he got up, and Ed's laughter followed him out of the kitchen. 

He caught the phone just as the second ring died away. "Mustang." 

_"ETA twenty minutes,"_ Riza said. 

"Understood," he replied, and hung up before going to deactivate the arrays along the front of the house. As he returned to the kitchen, heading for the array at the top of the back door, Orlov following him in, he offered, "Colonel Hawkeye and Major Kozlova, at least, will be here within twenty minutes." 

"Ah," Anastasia said. "And then we will be seeing your Central City?" 

Dishes rattled from the table and Roy glanced back as the array died under his finger, only to find Ed...cleaning up. "Shut up, bastard," Ed ordered, in an attempt to pre-empt any comment Roy might have made. 

Rather than irritate Ed so he gave up cleaning up as a bad job in future, Roy turned his attention to Anastasia. "Very likely. We may have to wait for Havoc, but the impression I received yesterday was that most of my team would be heading in to Command." Because no amount of paid leisure time could drag Breda away from the trouble he was causing in Intelligence, nor take Fuery away from the constant mess that was the military's radio equipment. He shrugged. "The smaller the group, the less likely we are to turn heads, but I would like the option to break into two groups, should it become necessary." 

"That is fine," Anastasia replied, while Natalia spoke quietly to Orlov; Roy could only assume she was translating for him. "Do you have a...what is it, schedule?" 

"Itinerary?" Roy suggested and she shrugged. "We discussed a few options," he offered, returning to his spot at the table. "There's a history museum–"

" _War_ museum," Ed corrected from the sink. 

"It's the same thing, here," Roy returned, the words coming out sounding tired, and Ed grimaced and inclined his head before returning to what looked like washing the dishes. Roy turned back to Anastasia, shaking his head in disbelief, and her smile was knowing. "Havoc mentioned there's a small, privately owned art collection that's open to the public, if you'd like to try that. In terms of military things, we could take you on a proper tour of Command, or I can see if any of the labs are cleared for visitors, or there's always the library, though we may have to put a leash on Edward for that." 

"Fuck you, Mustang," Ed shot back, right before a spray of soapy water hit the back of Roy's head. 

Roy turned to stare at his lover. "Thank you." 

Ed flashed him a cheeky grin. "You're welcome." 

Roy sighed and turned back to Anastasia, who was trying to hide a smile. "There are a number of small parks that we could walk through. It's not uncommon to see a performer of some sort – usually clowns or mimes, occasionally an alchemist – and the two parks nearest the university campus often play host to a number of artists practising their craft; Gracia likes to take Elicia over there on the weekends so they can get a free performance." He shrugged. "There are a couple of theatres with shows or musical performances after dinner, which I can hunt down the listings for, if you wanted to go to one of those one night." 

Anastasia nodded and turned to speak with her sister and Orlov. 

"Hey," Ed said, coming over and leaning against the back of Roy's chair, "when're Al and Winry supposed to be in?" 

Anastasia and Natalia looked over at that, obviously interested. "They're supposed to be catching the train some time today," Roy offered. "If we go by the office, I can check the times then, or I can ring by in a couple hours and have one of the others check." 

"Or we could ring the station," Ed pointed out. 

"If you know the number, be my guest." 

"What possible reason could I have for knowing the number to the Central Station?" 

Roy pretended to think about that for a second before musing, "I expect it would have been rather counterproductive to your habit of running to the station and hoping the next train out was going in the right direction." 

"Fuck you, shut up. We got the job done," Ed insisted, standing away from Roy's chair. 

"Edward," Roy said, turning a bland look on him, "you once spent a day riding the train around the central area because you didn't wait six hours for the next train heading to East City." 

Ed blinked a few times. "How the actual fuck did you find out about that? And why didn't you hold it over my head– Fuck, come _on_. I was, like, thirteen." 

"I seem to recall the damage of public property being a greater concern by the time you reported in," Roy commented, fully enjoying himself. 

"I fixed it!" Ed paused, his indignant expression turning into a frown. "Didn't I? Wait, which mission was that?" 

"I have no idea," Roy admitted, "but I feel like the property damage was in a different city." 

Ed considered that, scratching at his nose. "You...might be right. It might have been in Central? I think I got into a fight with some fuck-face or another and pulled down a building on his head after he tried shooting Al." 

Roy sighed. "I'm so glad you can't do that any more." 

"Wanna bet?" 

"He can," Anastasia assured Roy, laughter in her voice. "He got arrested, see–"

"Shut up, Anya." 

Roy shook his head. "No, I don't think I want to know." He cast Ed a slightly helpless look. "Please try to avoid mindless destruction in Central. For once." 

"You shut up, too." 

Roy turned to Anastasia. "So, thoughts on what you'd like to see first today?" 

"I think we should like, before we become too known, to see your Command. And your labs, they are of alchemy, yes?" 

"Two of them," Roy replied. "One of Führer Grumman's first acts was to downsize the State Alchemist program." 

" _Good_ ," Ed determined, voice fierce. 

"But, I had thought alchemy is of great importance to your country," Anastasia said, frowning. 

"Alchemy was one of the founding principles of Amestris, yes," Roy agreed carefully, "but Führer Grumman and I agree that we're all better served turning away from the weaponised alchemy that's always been our country's focus. Laboratory two focusses on the study of medical alchemy, using some translated texts gifted to us by Emperor Ling–" Ed scoffed "–while laboratory three focusses on alchemy that's specifically intended to defend its user." 

"And your...flame?" Natalia asked slowly. 

"You do not fit into this new military, it seems," Anastasia agreed. 

Roy shrugged. "Weaponised alchemy is a part of this country, and there will always be times when we'll need someone to stand on the battlefield and serve as a human weapon; we're not intending to get rid of those State Alchemists who specialise in fighting all together, but we do want to balance them with those alchemists who care more about preserving human life." 

"And you're not just a flame alchemist," Ed commented quietly, bracing his hands on the back of Roy's chair again, his fingers pressing lightly against his upper back. 

"I'm not," Roy agreed before clearing his throat. "Laboratory four was turned into a chemical lab and is under the jurisdiction of Lieutenant General Peabody; it's extremely unlikely you would be allowed in there simply because of the dangers involved in unstable chemicals." 

"Of course," Anastasia agreed. 

"Laboratory one is half weapons development under the jurisdiction of Major General Colt, and half transport development under the jurisdiction of General Bess. While I can probably get you permission to visit the half of the building focussing on vehicles, you won't be able to see the half that's focussed on weapons." He shrugged. 

"We would say the same, should you visit Drachma," Anastasia agreed with a careless shrug of her own. 

"What about five?" Ed asked just before someone knocked on the front door. 

"It was completely cleared and filled in," Roy said as he got to his feet, and Ed let out a relieved breath. He stopped at the door and glanced back at Ed, frowning. "They're extending the prison," he offered, because Ed was going to find that out eventually. 

"What?" Ed breathed, his expression falling. "No. Why would they–?"

Roy shook his head. "Something about needing more space. I didn't go requesting details," he said by way of apology before leaving to get the door as his visitor knocked again, a little harder. 

It was Riza and Francine, both looking vaguely cross. Riza's irritation shifted to concern as she took in whatever she could read from Roy's expression, though, and she demanded, "What happened?" Next to her, Francine stiffened, appearing faintly alarmed as she looked between them. 

Roy shook his head and stepped back to motion them in. "We were talking about the labs. Ed wanted to know what happened to five." 

Riza stiffened. "I see. We're still waiting on Lieutenant Colonel Havoc, if you want to take the time to change, General?" 

"Of course, Colonel," Roy agreed, leaving her to show herself and Francine in so he could return to the kitchen. "Colonel Hawkeye and Major Kozlova are here," he offered, watching Ed and failing to get a read on his expression, since he was hiding behind his hair again. "If we're going in to Central Command, I need to get my uniform." 

"Of course," Anastasia agreed, looking between him and Ed with clear concern. 

"Ed," Roy called. "Come upstairs with me for a bit, would you? I forgot to show you something." 

"Yes," Ed agreed, his tone bland, as he started towards Roy, "that's one of the signs of old age." 

Roy didn't bother responding to that, instead catching Ed's hand and leading him back up to their room. There, once the door was closed, he pulled Ed into a hug. 

Ed fisted his hands in Roy's shirt and pressed his face against his shoulder. "That place was a _torture chamber_. Why would they–?"

"There were no records about it," Roy offered, speaking the same hollow excuses Grumman had given him over the phone when he'd first heard the news and rang him up demanding an explanation. "Those of us who had any idea... We had all left Central already when the purview of the labs started. Because of all the court-martials, the prison was getting uncomfortably full, so it was decided that, since five was already rubble, they'd just–"

"Clear it off and extend," Ed finished, and there was anger in his voice, but it was leashed. "Was it really filled in, or–?" He pulled back enough that he could meet Roy's eyes, his own swimming with fury and old memories. 

"Yes. Part of the repairs to Command included dismantling most of the tunnels, then filling them in with cement. I insisted that the circle get the same treatment, no matter how many of the generals insisted it would be better used as some sort of quick path through the city. A way to avoid traffic." He sneered and saw an echo of disgust in Ed's own face. "I pointed out that someone could use it for another city-wide transmutation circle and they finally agreed it needed to be filled in." 

"Idiots," Ed snarled. Then something seemed to occur to him. "What about Sloth's tunnel?" 

Roy felt his jaw tighten and he shook his head. "Too strategically useful," he bit out before snorting. "We filled it in in Ishval, and word is Liore did the same. I suspect Olivier did something to her part of it, but I've never asked for details. Either way, the circle's broken in at least two places, and the Ishvalans intend to keep an eye on their section, stop anyone from using it again." 

"That's because the Ishvalans aren't fucking _idiots_."

"Yes, I expect that helps," Roy agreed, brushing a hand over Ed's cheek. "Are you okay?" 

Ed's mouth tightened and he grated out, "I really, really want to prove I'm still capable of bringing buildings down." 

"As tempting as that is, the building is inhabited," Roy replied with some very real regret; he, too, had been tempted to try his hand at building demolition when he'd come back to Central for Elicia's next birthday, but he knew they'd just get right back to work. He would only be punishing the workers, anyway, and it wasn't their fault that human experimentation had been performed there on the inmates of the very prison they were extending. It wasn't their fault that the discoveries made in that building had led to the death of Roy's best friend. 

"Dammit." 

"I know." 

Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let out out slowly. Most of his tension left him with the air, and he pressed forward against Roy, not quite slumping. "There's nothing we can do," he said quietly. 

Roy curled his arms around Ed again, holding him close. "Not really," he admitted. "Walks through the prison, checking up on any death sentences carried out. Holding people accountable." 

Ed took another deep breath, close enough that Roy could feel the draw of air against his throat. "Okay," he breathed out, more an exhalation than a word. "Okay," he said again, pulling back and catching Roy's gaze. Fire burned in those gold eyes, determination and world of trust. "You catch any asshole dolling out his own idea of punishment, you call me so I can break his nose." 

"Only his nose?" Roy couldn't help but ask. 

Ed's mouth quirked with the suggestion of a smile. "I'll _start_ with his nose." 

"I'm pretty sure there are a handful of police brutality laws you'll be breaking." 

"I am no police officer," Ed reminded him. "Military or civilian. I'm just pissed off." 

"Some things never–"

"Shut up." 

Roy brushed his lips against Ed's, failing miserably at hiding a fond smile. "I promise," he offered. 

"You'd better," Ed muttered. "I know where you sleep. And don't start, pervert." 

Roy laughed at that, unable to help himself, and Ed's eyes lit up in response, the gloom vanishing back behind whatever defences Ed used to keep functioning. 

"You should probably get changed before Hawkeye comes up here and shoots down the door," Ed pointed out as he stepped back. 

"Very true," Roy agreed. 

But, as he started past Ed towards the cupboard, the blond caught an arm around his waist and leant up for a kiss that fell just shy of being a little too arousing to go back downstairs without either a quick fuck or a cold shower. But Ed stepped back in time, heading over for his half-unpacked suitcase. 

And Roy knew that had been a 'thank you', had returned his own 'you're welcome', sealing a promise that would dog their steps until they fell into their graves. And he could never be anything but assured by that. 

.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit stuck partway through this chapter and got distracted by another FMA fic project for a while. Ed's the PoV for that fic, and getting back into Roy's headspace wasn't near as easy as I'd like to joke. So if it reads odd at all, that's why. Sorry.

The visit to Central Command went surprisingly well, all things considered. Roy's team managed to find more than enough to keep the two princesses occupied, trading off acting as tour guides and giving Roy the chance to drop by the treasury to haggle a fair reimbursement for his aunt's shopping, and ring Rush Valley after seeing the train wouldn't be leaving until well after lunch. He'd got Garfiel, rather than Al or Miss Rockbell, but the man had promised to pass on the news that Ed was staying at Roy's, so the two should head to Hawkeye or Havoc's once they got in in the morning and cool their heels there until someone managed to rouse a response from Roy's house. (Because while Al could probably deactivate Roy's traps from outside, without setting them off, neither of them could say what that would do to the chain of arrays, and giving people proof that his security could be taken down by a single alchemist was just asking for trouble.) 

Breda had thought to ring up a small sandwich shop he and Havoc favoured, which was only a couple blocks away from Command's west gate, and managed to talk them into delivering lunch for everyone to the office, so they didn't have to chance the mess hall, or force the princesses to deal with all of the brass all at once in the officer's mess. 

After lunch and a quick review of the current projects being conducted in labs two and three – both of which were under Roy's jurisdiction, as he was the highest ranked State Alchemist – he settled on taking them by lab three, mostly because one of lab two's current projects danced along the edge of human transmutation, and he didn't really want to know how Ed reacted to that. Too, his records showed Alex Armstrong was set to be at laboratory three that afternoon, and he and Ed hadn't seen each other yet. 

The reunion between Ed and Alex had been every bit the comedy routine Roy had been hoping for, though Riza had been quick enough to lead Anastasia, Natalia, Orlov, and Francine away before Alex got his shirt off. Alex – once he'd stopped alternately flexing his muscles and crying for joy in Ed's general direction –had been more than happy to serve as a tour guide. He was also extremely effective at getting Ed to move on from something that piqued his interest, since he could just pick the blond up under one arm and carry him to the next thing, which also served as a source of endless amusement for Roy, Riza, Havoc, Francine, and the three Drachmans. 

They rounded out the day with walking through one of the parks that was on the way back to Roy's house, Havoc purchasing some old bread from a vendor so Anastasia and Natalia could feed the ducks and small birds that flocked the pond the park had been built around, then caught dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall place that Roy had been going to since before he could remember. The food was wonderful, and Roy was close enough to the owner and his family that he knew their visit and anything they said during it would never pass the building's walls. 

When they came within sight of Roy's block, he touched Riza's shoulder and murmured, "Could I trouble you to watch things for me for a couple hours?" 

Riza cast him a glance. "Paying your dues to the madam?" she guessed. 

Roy suppressed a grimace. "Yes." He nodded up at where Ed was regaling Anastasia, Natalia, and Francine with one adventure or another ahead of them. "Ed might come with me." 

Riza nodded. "Good." She shot him a faintly amused look. "You're going to owe me." 

Roy sighed. "A new gun, or something for Black Hayate?" 

"I'll let you know when I decide." 

"Of course you will." 

Roy waited until they were in his home and everyone was taking off their shoes, Francine looking vaguely confused at the sign that she and Riza were staying, before offering, "I need to visit my aunt, if you wanted to come with me, Ed?" 

Ed flashed him a sharp smile. "Gonna bitch about how much the food cost?" 

Riza snorted. "Edward, when someone with access to your baby pictures asks for money, no matter how much, the proper response is, 'Yes, ma'am'." 

"Thank you for that, Colonel," Roy muttered as Ed's eyes took on a speculative gleam. 

Riza shrugged, entirely unapologetic, and Roy sighed before starting towards the stairs, because he preferred not to wear his uniform while he visited his aunt, especially given his rank. 

"We cannot come?" Anastasia asked, before almost immediately continuing, "Ah. I guess we would not fit in, yes?" 

Roy glanced back over his shoulder at her, putting on a considering look. "Maybe if you were showing a bit more skin..." And then he turned and hurried up the stairs, because Ed looked a little like he was going to slug him. 

"Women don't typically visit that pub unless they're openly carrying a gun," Riza offered, "or are actively looking for a partner for the night." 

Roy closed his room door on the continuation of that conversation, and quickly set about changing into one of his civilian suits. When he got back downstairs, he found everyone in the study, Riza answering questions about the city from the Drachmans, while Ed considered Roy's bookcases. "Ed," he called. 

Ed glanced back at him, then asked in his perfect Cretan, **"Where's the gun you mentioned being in here?"**

Roy blinked and took a minute to recall the words he needed, then replied, **"Second shelf from the ground. Gold."** Because he'd wanted to not be visible from the street when pulling it out, given it was there in case of an attack, and he'd needed the book to be a colour that he could easily spot when his colour vision was shot, but wouldn't immediately draw the eye like a red book would. It was labelled as being a history of the train industry, with a focus on the laws that had shaped it. (The actual book the title had been taken from was an excessively dry read, and had very little value even for those interested in history or their railway service, as he'd been told by many, many people, so he dubbed it a book unlikely to be picked up by a casual browsing.) 

Ed knelt and tapped the spine of the correct book three times. From his position in the doorway, Roy saw Anastasia's head tilting slightly, and he assumed she'd noted the position. 

Ed got up and joined him in the doorway after holding his finger on that book spine for a moment. "Time to go?" he guessed. 

"If you're done raiding my books," Roy agreed drily. 

Ed flashed him a sharp smile. "Just seeing if you had enough to keep me entertained if Winry decides she needs my leg more than I do." 

"Unlikely," Roy replied before turning and leading the way to the shoes. 

"That Winry'll take my leg, or that you have enough books to amuse me? Because the latter is so very not true, I've got to tell you," Ed informed him as he grabbed his own boots. 

"If you end up bored enough to start considering ways to remodel whatever piece of furniture you're stuck on, I'll have someone bring over research material from one of the alchemy labs," Roy offered carelessly. 

Ed fell very, very still, and Roy looked over at him, concerned, only to find Ed staring at him with an odd gleam in his eyes. "Yes," he said, and his voice came out sounding rusty. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, sure. I'd like that." 

Roy shrugged it off, half uncomfortable with, half drawn to the unfamiliar gleam in Ed's eyes. "Giving their work to you will shave off at least a week of work on any projects." 

Ed huffed out a laugh as he followed Roy from the house. "So, what you're saying is, you're going to find a way to use me, no matter how many country borders I put between myself and the military." 

Roy glanced at him, spotted the humour in gold eyes, and flashed Ed a smirk. "Of course." 

"Oh, fuck you, Mustang." 

Roy clasped his hands behind his back, amused, but reminded of something. "At the pub, please avoid last names if possible," he requested. 

Ed snorted. "Sure. I've no problem with just calling you 'bastard' all night." 

"I _do_ have a first name," Roy pointed out, though he really didn't mind Ed's insults; they'd grown on him over the years. 

Ed put on a confused look. "Are you saying your first name isn't 'Bastard'?" 

Roy barely suppressed a laugh. "I have it on good authority that neither of my parents ever even considered that name for me." 

"Well, that was rude of them," Ed complained, and Roy couldn't suppress his laugh that time. 

Roy had managed to calm his laughter by the time they reached his aunt's pub, which didn't really help with the rush of uncertainty now he was actually _there_ ; just because he'd explained things to Ed, didn't mean he couldn't take the usual welcome Roy received the wrong way. And Roy...really didn't want to manage Ed's temper. 

A hand slipped into his, their fingers folding comfortably together before Roy could look over to find Ed watching him with too-sharp eyes. "Roy?" 

Roy squeezed Ed's hand, then brought it up to press a kiss against the back, couldn't resist a smile at the hint of pink that dusted across Ed's cheeks at that. "Come on," he murmured, kept Ed's hand, because his aunt's women weren't unobservant, and that might well be enough to warn them off from swarming him. Maybe. If he was lucky. 

It was early enough in the evening that the pub wasn't jumping, but there were a couple of customers, and Emily, Peggy, and Dorothy were all on the floor, with Chris at the bar. Emily and Dorothy were both busy with their customers, but Peggy was fairly close, and she lowered her eyelids as she approached, purring out a welcoming, "Roy. It's been too long." 

And, okay, Roy honestly didn't expect to feel Ed let go of his hand and wrap that arm around Roy's waist from behind, his chin on Roy's shoulder; it was a clear claim, and he found he was oddly warmed by it, when he felt like he should have been angry. 

"Peggy," he offered in response, putting on one of his not-quite-so-charming smiles. "I'm afraid I'm spoken for for the foreseeable future." 

She quirked a smile and dropped the predatory air entirely. "About time," she said, pitched not to carry beyond them, then held out a hand clearly meant for Ed. "I'm Peggy." 

After a brief pause, Ed held out his free hand around Roy. "Ed," he said as she accepted his hand for a shake. As he withdrew his hand, he muttered, "You're a pain in my arse, bastard." 

Roy cleared his throat, couldn't resist drily returning, "Not yet, I haven't been." 

Ed groaned and complained, "Pervert," before letting him go. 

Roy felt oddly cold without Ed pressed against his back, but he flashed the blond a smirk past it, while Peggy snorted at their byplay. "Come on; I thought you wanted to take Riza's advice and go asking after baby pictures." 

"Teenager pictures," Ed corrected. "It's only equivalent that I get to see your awkward teen years." 

"I'm sorry, you had awkward teen years?" Roy asked as he led the way towards the bar, leaving Peggy to her amusement at their expense. (And, likely, she'd slip off directly to let the other ladies who weren't in the tap room know he'd found someone to tie him down.) 

Ed blinked, then snorted. "Smooth. Not falling for it, but that was smooth." 

"Thank you." He flashed his best smile at Chris as they reached the bar. "Madam, you're looking as stunning as ever." 

Chris snorted, apparently more interested in looking Ed over as they both sat in stools, than in returning Roy's joking greeting. "Hmm. Roy-Boy's mentioned you before," she announced, clearly recognising Ed from Roy's descriptions of him, from back in the days when he could use his aunt's information network to keep tabs on his most troublesome subordinate. 

Ed blinked a couple times, then turned a twisted little smile on Roy. " 'Roy-Boy'?" he repeated, a worrying gleam in his eyes. 

"Edward," Roy tried to warn, suspected it had come out as more of a whine. 

Ed's smile widened. "I'm saving that." 

"Of course you are," Roy muttered, rubbing at his face. 

Chris laughed at him just before she sat two glasses down before them. "Is it 'Ed', or 'Edward'?" she asked as Roy peered out to find a tumbler of scotch in front of him, and he took it gratefully. 

"Either," Ed admitted, picking up the beer she'd left him and taking a sip. He gave the glass a considering look, then shrugged and took another sip. 

Chris snorted and turned to Roy. "Details, boy." 

Roy sighed and drooped against the bar. "I may be housing royalty." He glanced at Ed, who was frowning into his beer, but didn't comment. They really should have discussed how much about Anastasia and Natalia Roy was going to pass on to Chris before stepping into the pub, or at least _some time_ before now, because while Roy trusted his aunt to keep the information need-to-know, Ed had only just met her, and Roy knew how seriously he took his duties. He should have asked. Crap. 

"May?" Chris returned, narrowing her eyes and looking between them. 

Ed's expression tightened, clearly waiting for Roy's response. When he didn't say anything further, Ed let out an irritated noise and muttered, "Tell her whatever you fucking want." 

Roy considered him for a moment around his scotch, suspected he'd be paying for this in some way later, then nodded and quietly told Chris, "The crown princess and her youngest sister. Ed's the crown princess' protection detail." 

Chris hummed. "If even half the stories about you are true, Ed–"

"Probably," Ed muttered, and Roy couldn't quite resist reaching out and catching Ed's free hand, folding their fingers together. Ed let out a disgruntled noise, but he didn't try pulling away, actually tightened his fingers around Roy's. So maybe he wouldn't be paying for this. (No, this was Ed. He'd be paying for springing this on him without warning, but at least it didn't seem like Ed was _angry_.)

"–then she's in good hands," Chris finished, as though Ed hadn't interrupted, and Roy caught a glimpse of a smirk dragging at Ed's mouth. "I take it that means we have a treaty, then?" 

Roy nodded. "Signed in two languages." 

"Good." Chris took his almost-empty tumbler and refilled it, which was the closest she would come to a hearty congratulations in public. 

Roy saluted her with the glass once he'd accepted it back, then took another sip. 

Chris glanced over as someone stepped into the pub, watched to make sure he was distracted by one of the ladies, then turned back to Roy and Ed and said, "Keep talking, Roy-Boy. Unless you're telling me you're been breaking bread with a couple Drachmans without prying information from them?" 

Roy snorted and settled in to fill his aunt in on the royal family. Once he'd started slowing down, Ed chimed in with information about the Imperial Court that Anastasia hadn't offered, things that she might not have even known would be of interest to Amestris. But Ed, who had grown up in the shadow of the military and, more importantly, Roy, knew exactly what Chris and Roy would be interested in, had probably searched out that information without even realising he'd been doing so (at least at first). 

When Ed went on to offer similarly useful information on Creta and Aerugo, Roy knew he was right; Ed may not have left four years ago with the intention to help Amestris gain intel on her neighbours, but that's what he had done. And some of it, Roy realised, could be used to open more peaceful lines of communication with Creta and Aerugo, which was just so _typically_ Edward that Roy eventually just had to lean over and kiss him. 

Ed flashed him a bemused smile. "Are you drunk?" he asked. 

Roy glanced at his tumbler, which Chris had been occasionally refilling with more scotch, rather than cutting him off like she usually did. "Possibly a little bit," he decided. 

Ed snorted and waved a hand at Chris, who was handing off some drinks to Lise for a couple guys who had gone straight to her when they'd come in. When Chris finished and came over, Ed said, "I'm gonna take this dumb-arse home before I have to carry him." 

Chris smirked. "Good plan." She collected their glasses as she added, "I'll charge the drinks to his tab." 

"Oh, good," Ed decided as he hopped backwards off the bar stool. "Pretty sure all I have are Drachman rubles, right now. Maybe a handful of Cretan pesetas." 

"Worthless," Chris informed him with a superior tone, before turning away. 

"You know," Ed commented quietly to Roy as he slipped from his stool with far less grace, "that's sort of what everyone else thinks of the cen." 

"Imagine that," Roy returned, wrapping an arm around Ed's waist because he could, rather than as any need for assistance. 

Ed wrapped his own arm around Roy in return, and they stepped out of the pub together, Ed maybe taking a little bit of Roy's weight. 

"I should have asked you about Creta and Aerugo earlier," Roy said once they were out on the streets. And Ed had clearly memorised their path, because he hadn't even waited for directions before turning the right direction. 

Ed huffed. "Maybe. But since when have you trusted me to give an accurate report on anything?" 

Roy sighed. "You're not fifteen any more." 

Ed's steps paused for just long enough to be noticeable, then he shrugged. "I certainly hope not, or this is going to be a really fucking awkward relationship." 

Roy snorted and shook his head. "Thank you for that, Edward." 

"Just calling it like it is, Mr Fourteen-Years-My-Senior." 

"What is your obsession with my age?" Roy complained, because, seriously? 

Ed snorted and squeezed Roy's side. "Just happy to find that I'm more like my mum in at least one way." 

Roy frowned and maybe he was more than a bit tipsy, because it took him almost a block to realise Ed meant, "Liking older men?" 

"Mm-hm." 

He knew that Hohenheim had been a Philosopher's Stone, not unlike Father, but he'd never got the full story there, and he couldn't quite keep himself from saying, "Should I ask about that age difference?" 

"A few hundred years," Ed returned, his tone careless. 

Roy choked out a cough and stopped walking, turned a disbelieving gaze on Ed, who had stopped with him. "A few _hundred years_?"

Ed flashed him a grin that spelt trouble. "Yup. He was the only human to survive Xerxes." 

_Four hundred years_ , Roy knew. But that also meant... "You're half-Xerxesian," he murmured. And that explained Ed and Al's unusual colouring, didn't it? Just like with the Ishvalans and Roy's own Xingan ancestry, Xerxesians must have had a particular colouring gene that dominated the hodgepodge mess of Amestrisan genetics. 

Ed's grin twisted, looked a little like it hurt for a moment, before he managed to get it back under control, turned it into something calmer. "Yeah. Al and I are kind of an endangered race," he said, pitched like a joke, but Roy knew him well enough to suspect that Ed had spent plenty of dark nights beating himself up for not loving Miss Rockbell or any of the other women he knew the right way to continue the Xerxesian race with them. 

If anyone brought it up later, Roy fully intended to blame pulling Ed into a hug in the middle of the pavement on the alcohol. The fact that Ed responded by hugging him back, grabbing fistfuls of Roy's shirt and pulling it tight over his back, could probably also be blamed on alcohol, even though Roy was fairly certain Ed had managed to nurse that same pint of beer the entire visit. 

He just held Ed for a moment in silence, trying to find something to say, some way to tell Ed it wasn't his job to continue the Xerxesian race, but in such a way that he could laugh it off for appearances sake. He finally settled on, "Unless you and your brother want to debate how far removed you need to be to avoid the biological repercussions of incest, I don't think there's much chance to keep the Xerxesian bloodline from going extinct." 

Ed let out a choked sound and pulled back, his eyes gleaming with amused disbelief. "You did not just–"

"That said," Roy continued as his brain made a weird little leap and he couldn't quite stop himself from following it, "I do have to wonder what your particular disability would have meant for any children, in terms of alchemical abilities." 

Ed tilted his head to one side, expression turning thoughtful. "I don't think it would affect them at all," he decided, motioning that they should continue walking, which Roy did with a nod. "I mean, I guess you can say that access to the Gate is genetic, since not everyone has the ability to perform alchemy, and Al and I have hypothesised that our greater alchemy talents were a direct result of our Xerxesian ancestry, but giving up access to my Gate was a conscious choice and shouldn't have changed my genes in any way. That said, this _is_ Truth we're talking about here, and its idea of equivalence tends more towards the 'fuck them over completely' spectrum, so it may well turn out that any children I might have had would have been as incapable of alchemy as the majority of the population." 

Notably, Ed hadn't said 'as incapable of alchemy as me', although Roy doubted most people would even notice that slip, and fewer still would be able to guess at the reason for it. 

"That's certainly true enough," Roy muttered, barely resisting the urge to lift his hand up to his eyes. 

Ed shrugged. "I suppose the best way to send a giant 'fuck you' back, would have been to find another alchemist and let their uninterrupted connection serve in place of my own disability; as a general rule, you only need one alchemist parent to have the ability yourself." Then he glanced at Roy, that same trouble-making smile turning his mouth again. "Pity gender changes are human transmutation." 

Roy raised an eyebrow at him. "Tired of being male, Edward?" 

Ed hit him and snapped, "Just because I keep my hair long–"

"I like your hair long," Roy interrupted, hoping to stop that rant before Ed could really get going. 

Ed huffed and deflated a bit. "Bastard." 

So, compliments were apparently a good way to derail rants. He'd have to remember that. 

Once they got back to the house, they were drawn into a discussion about what to do the next day. Since Al and Miss Rockbell were due to arrive in the morning, they made malleable plans to visit either the history museum or the art gallery, whichever Al and Miss Rockbell were more interested in. (Personally, Roy suspected they wouldn't be interested in either, but Al might just surprise him and be interested in the gallery. He'd find out soon enough.) 

With their plans decided, Roy saw Riza and Francine to the door, then locked the house down and settled in, at Anastasia's direction, for some Drachman lessons. It was the first time Ed was both conscious and present for one, and while he kept any sign of being impressed hidden, he wasn't shy about offering some comments which helped Roy with some grammatical things that were giving him trouble. 

Eventually, though, he had to beg off for bed, and Ed followed him after trading some Drachman with the three still in the study. 

Roy was honestly going to go straight to bed, but then he made the bad life choice of looking over as Ed pulled off his shirt, found himself a little bit hypnotised by the way the muscles of his back moved as he freed himself from the fabric. Still in his trousers, Roy walked up behind Ed and wrapped his arms around his waist, took a moment to enjoy having the blond half-naked, then asked, "What was that about my being a pain in your arse?" 

Ed looked back over his shoulder, gold eyes sparkling in the light from the bedside lamps. "Are you propositioning me, General Mustang?" 

Roy pretended to think about that for a moment, then allowed, "I do believe I am, Major Elric." 

Ed snorted. "Don't–"

And, oh, Roy was probably going to get punched for this, but he couldn't keep himself from breathing into Ed's ear, "Can I fuck you, Fullmetal?" 

The broken sound Ed let out went straight to Roy's cock, and the blond sort of slumped against him, like his knees weren't capable of supporting him. "Oh, fuck," Ed whispered. 

Roy raised an eyebrow, intrigued, even as he tightened his grip on Ed. "Something I should know about, Full–"

Ed grabbed a fistful of his hair and twisted around so he could crash his mouth against Roy's, effectively swallowing the rest of his second name. When he pulled back, there was a suggestion of pink across his cheeks, and he quietly offered, "I may have, a little bit, just a few– okay, it was more than a few, but there were–" He coughed and looked away, definitely blushing. "You would always call me _that_ in my, ah, dreams." 

Roy hid a smirk against Ed's neck, pressing a kiss there before murmuring, "You dreamt of me?" 

"Don't–" Ed started, before Roy groped him through the tight leather trousers. "Oh, fucking– You never play fair!" 

"You should tell me about some of these dreams," Roy suggested, and, oh, he was so going to hell for this. (Like he didn't already have a spot waiting for him down there.) "Perhaps we can–" he licked a line up Ed's throat, to his ear "–recreate them." 

Ed made a valiant effort to suppress a moan, but failed miserably. "Hate you," he complained. 

Roy responded to that by taking a step back that he _really_ didn't want to take. 

Ed swayed for a second, then spun around. His eyes were blown wide, glinting with desperate want, pink liberally dusting his cheeks. "Fuck you, you smug fucking _bastard_ ," he complained, before closing the space between them and leaning up to nip at Roy's bottom lip. "Beds didn't tend to feature." 

"Why does that not surprise me?" Roy murmured as he ran his hands up Ed's back. "Well, I'm afraid I have a no sex at the office policy–"

"You suck." 

"–which, if you can find a way to distract Riza for a couple hours, I might be convinced to forget about," Roy finished. 

Ed stared at him for a moment, then put on the sort of smile that always preceded the worst sort of Elric Trouble. "I'll think of something." 

"I should be more worried about that than I am," Roy murmured. 

"Probably," Ed admitted, before spinning them so his back was to the bed, his smile doing terrible things to Roy's higher-brain functions. He slipped nimbly from Roy's hold, ducking down and removing his trousers and boxers in one deceptively easy move. "How about we save stupid fantasies and just make some of our own?" he suggested as he straightened. 

Roy gave him one long look-over, couldn't help but think that, if Lust had looked like Ed, instead of that buxom woman, he'd have had a much harder time burning her to death because, dear god, _this_ was temptation. 

He swallowed, licked his lips, and roughly agreed, "I can get behind that plan," as he closed the space between them. 

"And on top of it, and in front of it, and in it, I'm sure," Ed returned, smiling like sin incarnate. 

"Definitely inside it," Roy agreed and Ed laughed as he pulled them backwards onto the bed in a controlled fall. 

Roy would have to ask him about those dreams some other time, clearly. 

-0-

Somehow, Roy was up and had plenty of time to start breakfast before the phone rang (which was, undoubtedly, assisted by Ed sleeping through Roy getting up). He left off staring at the oven to wander out into the hall and catch up the handset, bringing it up to his ear. "Mustang." 

_"Alphonse and Winry just arrived,"_ Riza informed him. 

"The casseroles should be done in about fifteen minutes," he offered, because he'd figured he might as well feed everyone, since he'd got up early enough, and Riza had a minor weakness for breakfast casseroles, which Roy tried not to take advantage of too often. "And I should be able to get everyone up and at least semi-decent by then." 

Riza coughed in that way that meant she was trying not to laugh. _"We may well take you up on that, sir."_

"We'll see you shortly, Colonel," Roy returned with a knowing smile that she couldn't see, before hanging up and stepping over to the front door to disengage the traps there. He then made for the stairs, figuring he might as well start waking everyone up, and he could disarm the back of the house when he went to go check on the food after. 

He found Ed slumped against the banister at the top of the stairs, his hair a messy halo around his head, wearing boxers and his black vest. "Mornin'," he offered, before letting free a wide yawn. 

He looked adorable, and Roy was struck with the realisation that he was pretty much screwed, because if he could have this sight every morning for the rest of his life, he would be more than happy. He didn't even need the sex, just the sight of Ed, half asleep and rumpled. (Which wasn't to say he didn't _want_ the sex, just that this could be enough.) 

He had turned into a sop, and it was one hundred percent Edward's fault. 

Roy cleared his throat and managed a smile that felt way too fond. "Good morning. Your brother and Miss Rockbell should be coming by in ten minutes or so." 

Ed gave a slow blink. "Al and Winry?" he asked. 

Roy ducked his head to hide his grin – not that he expected Ed was awake enough to take note – and made his way up the stairs. When he reached Ed, he pulled him away from the banister, and Ed came willingly into his arms, letting out a pleased hum as he dropped his head onto Roy's shoulder. "Should I call Riza back and tell her to hold off another hour so you can finish waking up?" he teased. 

"Mmm... Maybe," Ed mumbled. "Breakfast ready?" 

"Breakfast is baking; I'm making a casserole." 

Ed was still for one, long, worrying moment, before saying, "Mum always used to make casseroles for breakfast on the weekends. She stopped when Hohenheim left." He sounded more awake, like childhood reminders had brushed away the last vestiges of sleep. 

Roy twisted his neck so he could press a kiss to Ed's cheek, tightening his arms around him. "You'll have to be my judge as to who makes a better casserole, then. Though, I warn you now, Riza may have a thing or two to say if you declare mine inferior." 

Ed snorted and pressed a kiss to Roy's neck. " _Hawkeye_ 's gonna be the one bitchin'. Really." 

"I'm not going to be insulted if you like your mother's better than mine," Roy insisted. Then he let out a snort of his own and added, "I'd ask for the recipe, but if she ever wrote it down–"

"Shut up," Ed muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. He pulled back enough to shoot Roy a scowl that was very obviously just for show before, grudgingly, allowing, "Granny might have it." 

"Ah. Well then, if you decide you hate my casserole, we'll have to ring her and ask." 

Ed rolled his eyes and leant up to kiss Roy, which he was all too happy to return, morning breath notwithstanding. 

When Ed pulled back, looking very much awake, even if his hair was still a mess, he murmured, "I guess you're gonna want me to put some real clothing on." 

"Please," Roy agreed. "While you may be used to Miss Rockbell and Alphonse seeing you in your undergarments, they won't be visiting alone." 

"Uh-huh," Ed returned, nodding and looking unconvinced. "You just don't want Winry seeing me in boxers." 

Roy didn't bother resisting a small, slightly helpless smile. "Ed, she's your mechanic and you have an automail leg; I'm resigned." 

Ed snorted and pressed a brief kiss to Roy's mouth, then slipped from his hold and called something in Drachman that Roy couldn't even pretend to catch. 

A giggle came from behind Natalia's closed door, while Anastasia's unlatched door opened enough for her to poke her head out. She said something to Ed, very clearly amused, and he retorted with something almost certainly rude. 

Roy shook his head and left them to it, heading back down the stairs. He side-tracked long enough to ensure Orlov was up, then returned to the kitchen to disarm the back of the house and check on the food. 

Everyone slowly trickled their way into the kitchen, and Roy fairly quickly found himself explaining breakfast casseroles to the two princesses. Ed had perked up upon hearing that this particular recipe had come from Gracia, and the conversation turned to the many and varied recipes she had forced onto Roy over the years, including one for her apple pie, which Ed seemed oddly delighted to hear he had. 

Their guests knocked as Roy was pulling the casseroles out of the oven, which he suspected would have been a lot more of a problem if it had been anyone other than Al visiting, because Ed was out of the kitchen before he could finish calling back, "I've got it!" 

"He is a little excited," Anastasia commented as she used Roy's spare oven mitts to pick up one of the dishes. 

"A little bit," Roy agreed, leading the way out to the dining room, where he had a table that was a fair bit larger than the one in the kitchen, which rarely saw use, beyond a flat surface to accumulate paperwork brought home from the office, which Roy had already cleaned off. 

Ed's greetings were loud and clearly happy, even when he shouted an 'ow' and bitched at Miss Rockbell for hitting him. Riza and Francine preceded them into the dining room, both amused, for all they were trying to hide it, and Roy waved them towards the table, even as he called, "If you're not hungry, Edward, we're happy to eat–"

He didn't get any further before Ed was rushing into the room, looking irritated and waving a fist at him. "Don't you fucking _dare_ , bastard, or your stupid attempt gets an automatic failure and I'm telling Mrs Hughes. And _she_ can bitch you out for making a mess of her recipe." 

Roy snorted and offered a smile for the two who'd followed Ed in. "Alphonse, Miss Rockbell." 

"Good morning, General," Al replied with a smile, as polite as ever. "Thank you for having us over, and I'm sorry for Brother." 

"I'm used to your brother," Roy pointed out. 

"Good point," Miss Rockbell said, casting Ed a glare. 

Ed huffed and made a huge show of rolling his eyes. "Oh, fuck's sake, Win. Bitch at me _after_ food, won't you?" He shoved Roy a half step back. "Scoot. Lemme introduce people." 

Roy turned to take his spot with a sigh. 

Ed led the other two from Resembool over to the open chairs to Roy's right. "Right, this is my brother, Al, and my friend and mechanic, Winry Rockbell. Al, Win, this is Anya Petrova, crown heir of Drachma; her youngest sister, Natalia Vorobyova; and Natalia's guard, Fedor Orlov, who you can totally ignore for the rest of forever." 

Al, who had spent two years in the Xingan Imperial City, and was far more inclined than his brother to show royalty respect, gave a rather proper bow and offered, "It is an honour to make your acquaintance, your highnesses." 

"I think," Anastasia commented with a teasing tone, "that we got the wrong brother." 

"Oh, fuck off," Ed complained, yanking out the chair next to Roy. 

" _Edward_ ," Al hissed, disapproving. 

Ed turned and rolled his eyes at him. "Sit down so we can eat." 

"Do you _never_ change?" Al complained as he and Miss Rockbell took seats. 

"Fuck, I hope not," Ed muttered. 

Anastasia, clearly as familiar with the signs of an impending sibling argument as Roy, quickly distracted Al, asking him about Xing – "Ed mentioned you had spent some time there?" – and leaving it to Roy to distract Ed by serving him some of the casserole – which Ed pretty much devoured, then set about stealing some of Roy's after another couple servings emptied the pan, because he was a bottomless pit – while Riza drew Miss Rockbell into conversation. In that way, they were able to keep anyone from starting a massive row, and Ed eventually let himself be drawn into the conversation about Xing, clearly interested about what he'd missed while he'd been out of contact. 

Once everyone was pretty much finished, Ed got up and started collecting dishes, while Riza said, to Al and Miss Rockbell, "There was discussion of going to either the history museum or an art gallery today, if either of you two were interested in coming along?" 

"Art gallery?" Al asked, looking interested. "Central has one of those?" 

"One of the State Alchemists started it up," Roy offered. "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc seems to think it's worth a visit." 

"That might be nice," Al decided, before somewhat sheepishly offering, "I'm not sure I have the energy to face the history museum today, after being on a train all night." 

"Same," Miss Rockbell added, looking rather tired. 

"I fully understand," Roy promised. 

Al gave a distracted nod, turning to look towards the doorway leading into the kitchen, through which they could hear the sounds of running and gently splashing water. "Is Brother–"

"If you mention it, he might stop," Roy warned, and Anastasia muffled a laugh. "Please don't mention it." 

Al shot him a vaguely surprised look, before snorting and shaking his head. "I guess he _can_ change," he mumbled. 

"Not _that_ much," Miss Rockbell insisted. "I bet his leg is a _mess_."

"He was moving on it fine," Al pointed out. When she scoffed, he added, "I know what he looks like when he's having trouble with his leg, Winry, and he's not." 

"I do not know much of automail," Anastasia offered, "but I have seen him oiling it." 

Miss Rockbell deflated slightly. "Well that's...something. It's probably scratched all to hell, though." 

Anastasia shrugged, clearly having no good response to that. Roy, while he hadn't paid much attention to Ed's leg any of the times he'd had access to it, hadn't seen any large scratches on it, but he would be surprised to discover that it had survived four years completely undamaged. Not that he was going to be mentioning that, not until _after_ Ed had his talk with Miss Rockbell, because he didn't want to be the one explaining to her that he and Ed were...whatever they were. Lovers, he guessed. 

Al sighed and turned to Roy. "I guess you're pretty full-up, here," he said, and Roy shrugged and nodded; Anastasia and Natalia could probably double up and they could figure something out, but he suspected his house would get cramped fairly quickly, knowing how Ed and Miss Rockbell could be. "Winry and I can get a hotel." 

"I'll ring through to the office before we leave and have Major Falman book your usual hotel. Two rooms?" 

"Please." Al offered him a smile that looked a little tired. "Thank you, sir." 

"It's my pleasure, Alphonse." 

Anastasia shook her head, looking a bit disbelieving. "We truthfully _did_ get the wrong brother," she commented, quiet enough that Ed shouldn't be able to hear her over the dishes. "How are you certainly related to him?" 

"Possibly," Roy corrected automatically. " 'How are you possibly related to him'." 

Anastasia huffed at him. "That, yes." 

Al offered a vaguely helpless smile. "He stole all the rude genes, so all I ended up with were the nice ones?" 

Miss Rockbell snorted. "Lies. 'Polite', maybe, but neither of you are _nice_."

"Ouch," Al complained, and Miss Rockbell flashed him a mean little smile. Al shook his head and leant against the table, focussing on Anastasia. "Okay, so, I have to ask, how did you and my brother meet? I can't see him being welcome in the Imperial Court." 

"He was not," Anastasia admitted, "and many still look on him with disfav– No." She looked at Roy. "Neodobreniye?" 

Roy frowned and shook his head, unfamiliar with that word. "Disfavour would work," he offered. "Or disapproval. Major Kozlova," he called down the table, and she looked up from her conversation with Riza and Natalia, a mostly-hidden glimmer of irritation in her stare. "A translation?" He looked at Anastasia. 

Anastasia sighed, but repeated, "Neodobreniye?" 

"Disapproval," Francine translated, the irritation vanishing entirely. 

"Spasibo," Anastasia returned, before looking back at Al, while Francine returned to her own conversation. "Many in the Imperial Court still look on him with disapproval, but my father has changed his mind about him some, so he is no longer in danger of being deported." 

Al covered his face, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Miss Rockbell didn't bother hiding her amusement, just started laughing out loud. 

Anastasia's smile was knowing. "I have a long habit of going out into the Imperial City, in the areas where I am not known, and I met Ed during one of those trips. You will think it odd, I see, but I find his lack of deference...refreshing." 

Al snorted, shaking his head and looking a little disbelieving. "Yeah, Brother has a habit of finding powerful people who don't mind how much of a jerk he is." 

"I _heard_ that, Alphonse," Ed announced, just before he stepped out of the kitchen. 

Al, proving he was far from nice, flashed his brother a sharp smile. "Whoops," he said, entirely unapologetic. 

Anastasia said something in Drachman and Ed rolled his eyes at her. **"Shut up,"** he retorted, and Roy only understood that because Ed used it all the time and Anastasia had kindly translated it last night. Then Ed turned to Roy and, switching to Cretan, said, **"Can you talk to my brother for me?"**

Roy raised an eyebrow at him, couldn't help but notice Anastasia's irritated huff – she'd admitted that she only understood very basic Cretan, and Natalia only knew some key phrases – and Al's irritated frown. **"Why would I be talking to your brother?"** Roy asked, and Al's frown deepened. 

**"Because you don't want to deal with _her_ , and I'm not talking to both of them on my own,"** Ed insisted. 

Roy raised his other eyebrow. 

Ed let out an irritated noise. **"Do you _want_ us to demolish your house?"**

**"Fine,"** Roy agreed, his tone a little too flat, but he had fully intended to stay out of this whole 'let Ed's family know we're sleeping together' drama. 

Well, at least Ed wasn't sticking him with Miss Rockbell. (Not that Roy would have let him; that was one conversation he _really_ didn't want to end up in the middle of until long after the smoke had cleared.) 

Ed knocked a fist against Al's shoulder, then ordered, "Win, come on. You can bitch over the state of my leg upstairs," as he started out of the room. 

"What did you do to my leg, Edward Elric?" Miss Rockbell demanded as she jumped to her feet and hurried after him. 

" _My_ leg," Ed shot back. 

When Al started to get to his feet, looking reluctant, Roy reached out and touched his shoulder. "Could I borrow you, Alphonse?" 

Al narrowed his eyes, his gaze far too intelligent. "Divide and conquer, sir?" he suggested, his voice tight. 

"Something like that," Roy admitted, because there was really no use lying at this point. As he rose, he called, "Colonel–" Riza looked up "–please keep an ear on Edward and Miss Rockbell and intervene if it sounds to be getting more out of hand than usual." 

Riza's mouth quirked. "Understood, sir." 

"Thank you, Colonel. Alphonse," he said, motioning towards the kitchen. 

Al sighed and nodded, then followed Roy as he led the way through the kitchen and out into the back garden. There wasn't much in the way of plant-life, beyond weeds; one of the dangers of being as busy as he was, and having a noted preference for fire, was that Roy had never bothered trying to keep any plants. There was a small, weather-beaten table and chairs set, a grill that he'd alchemised for the one time he'd been talked into letting his team come over for a cookout, and a shed with toys for Elicia in one corner, but nothing of any real interest. 

"So, what's my brother chickening out about?" Al asked as they both settled into the chairs around the table. 

Roy sighed, and since there really wasn't a good way to delicately handle this – and he doubted Al would appreciate any great care on his part – he deadpanned, "Ed and I are sleeping together." 

Al blinked a few times, then sighed. "Really? That's it?" 

Roy blinked back and relaxed back into his chair as much as the wrought iron would allow. "I admit, that was calmer than I was expecting." 

Al sighed again and slumped against the table. "Ed's been trying to pretend he didn't have a crush on you since he was thirteen," he deadpanned, and Roy...really wasn't sure what to do with that; exactly how many people had noticed Ed was interested in him, while Roy had been blissfully ignorant, anyway? "He thought I didn't notice, and I thought he was over it, after the Promised Day, especially with–" Al blew out an irritated breath and shot a glare towards the upper floor of the house. "Since you told the colonel to go up there if things get out of hand, I assume you know how Ed and Winry parted?" 

"For the most part," Roy admitted. "I'm aware the offer of marriage was on the table." 

Al huffed. "Followed by radio silence. The only thing that kept me from trying to hunt him down was that _you_ hadn't heard from him, either." 

Roy couldn't quite suppress a snort. "And here I thought you kept checking to see if I'd heard from Edward because you expected me to hear about any international messes first." 

Al rolled his eyes. "A bit, yeah, but I did sort of half expect he would come to you before me or Winry." He gave Roy a pointed look. "I was right." 

Roy shrugged. "Debatable. We never told the Drachmans, while approaching the peace talks, who would be serving as our half of the delegation, only that it would be someone with the authority to treat on Amestris' behalf, and Ed had been out of contact for long enough to not know exactly how high up the chain of command the Führer dragged me when he finally pulled me out of Ishval. Likely, he expected to only deal with Lieutenant General Armstrong and escape without word getting back to the rest of us that he'd been here until long after he was back across the border." 

"Good point," Al muttered. 

Roy shook his head. "From Anya's comments, I suspect she wouldn't have let him back into Drachma without at least _ringing_ one of us, but as this _is_ Ed we're talking about..." 

Al shot him a knowing smile. "He'd have ducked her. And as soon as I found out he'd been there, I'd be heading for Drachma to kick his arse, so he really would have only been prolonging the inevitable." 

"Please feel free to remind him. Preferably _without_ damaging my house." 

Al laughed. 

Roy sighed and shook his head again. "He wasn't going to say anything to me; Anya had to get involved." 

Al let out his own sigh. "Are you surprised?" 

"Not particularly." 

Al tilted his head to one side, giving Roy a considering look that felt like it saw far too much. "You wouldn't have told him, either." 

Roy had to look away from those gold eyes, so similar to the ones that haunted his dreams. "You assume I was any more inclined to admit an attraction." 

Al was quiet for long enough that Roy finally had to look back up at him, found the young man watching him with that too-knowing stare. "Do you love my brother?" Al asked. 

Perhaps it was the _colour_ of their eyes, because Roy was no more able to lie to Al than he was to Ed, and he heard himself quietly admit, "Yes." 

Al watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Break his heart, and you'll have me to deal with." 

Not an idle threat, Roy knew. "I have no intention in hurting him." 

Al considered that, then snorted and looked back towards the upper floor of the house. "Which is why you're leaving him to Winry." 

Roy snorted. "Oh, no. I've done my time, facing down scorned women, and he deserves what's coming to him; I'm not going up there unless Miss Rockbell starts seriously threatening bodily harm, or there's a danger of property damage. And since Colonel Hawkeye is perfectly capable of putting a stop to either issue, without being in danger of getting a spanner thrown at her..." 

Al laughed. 

"You don't want to go up there, either," Roy pointed out. 

"Ed doesn't really deserve backup," Al insisted, and Roy smirked at him. "Yeah, okay. Have you picked Brother's brain for new arrays, yet?" 

Roy shrugged. "There hasn't really been time." 

Al's expression was knowing. "Of course not. I'm sure you've both been _extremely busy_."

Well, if Al was going to be like _that_... "He did teach me one I hadn't known," Roy offered. "An array for cleaning both worn clothing and skin." 

Al stared at him for a beat, then covered his face with an embarrassed groan. "And that is as much about your and Brother's sex life as I _ever_ want to be privy to." 

Roy let out a snort. "That's as much as I intend to share," he admitted. "But, no, Anya and Ed have been attempting to teach me Drachman, between travelling and sight-seeing." 

Al raised an eyebrow. " _Attempting_ , sir? You sounded pretty fluent, earlier." 

Roy shook his head. "That was Cretan." 

Al blinked. "...I had no idea you spoke another language." 

Roy smirked at him. "You've been around the military long enough to understand the advantages in having hidden skills." 

Al snorted and gave a slow shake of his head. "Yeah. I really should know better." He shot Roy a considering look. "You don't secretly know Xingan, do you?" 

Roy shrugged. "Not yet." 

Al's responding smile was knowing. "I might let you and Ed talk me into sticking around for a bit, teach you both." 

"Ed's not staying." 

Al froze. "What?" 

"He's going back to Drachma with Anya and Natalia," Roy explained, was impressed that he managed to keep any sign of his own feelings on the matter hidden. "He only came to Central to placate Miss Rockbell." 

"What about _you_?" Al demanded, and it was actually kind of touching that _that_ was what he was complaining about. 

"What about me?" Roy returned. 

Al's jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes on Roy. "Have you told him?" he demanded harshly. "That you love him?" 

It was an act of will to keep from crossing his arms over his chest defensively, because no, not in so many words. Actions, sure, and dancing around the topic, but not– There hadn't yet been the right time to discuss the depth of affection, and it wasn't like _Ed_ had said anything. "I don't see what that–"

"For fuck's sake, sir!" Al complained, sounding like a weirdly respectful version of his brother for a moment. " _Tell him_. Or he's going to leave thinking this was just some, I dunno, some _fling_."

Somehow, Roy kept his voice mild, rather than irritated, as he said, "Unlikely. I've told him to consider this his home."

"That's not–"

"Can you _honestly_ tell me you think Edward would stay?" Roy demanded, couldn't quite keep his tone as irritation-free that time. "I'm not going to be the thing to tie him down." 

Al stared at him for a couple beats, looking a bit like he was just seeing Roy for the first time. And then he let out a tired laugh, slumping against his chair and covering his eyes. 

"Alphonse?" Roy asked, confused. 

"He's turned into Dad," he said quietly. "He has no idea, and it's going to piss him off so much when he figures it out." 

Van Hohenheim, who had left his wife and children for _years_. Who had been so out of touch, he hadn't known his wife had died and his sons had tried human transmutation, that his eldest had sold his soul to the military in the hopes of finding a way to save his brother. 

"Edward," Roy said quietly, "is not your father, and I am not your mother; I may not be able to follow him, but if I don't hear from him for longer than a month, I will send someone after him and have them drag him home." 

Al peeked out at him. "Well," he said without any irony, "if anyone can leash Brother, it would be you." 

"I suppose those four years trying to keep tabs on you two while you attempted to avoid my reach had to leave me with some skills," Roy returned drily. "If nothing else, I expect the return of his right hand has improved his penmanship, so he no longer has that excuse." 

Al quirked a sad smile. "If he tries making excuses about writing, just point out that Dad never wrote." 

"I will keep that one in reserve." 

Al looked towards the house. "A home, huh? How'd he take that?" 

"Well, he hasn't tried to burn it down yet." 

Al shot him a smile that was edged in old pain. "Thank you." 

There were a dozen things Al could have been thanking him for – giving Ed a home, being willing to wait for him, not trying to change him, loving him to begin with – and rather than asking which one he meant, Roy just said, "He's worth it." 

Al's smile eased into something happier. "Yes, he is," he agreed. 

Which was really all that needed to be said. 

.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it so freaking hard to write Winry from Roy's PoV? *whines for a while*

The first indication of how Ed's conversation with Miss Rockbell went, was when she slammed out the back door, a spanner held in one white-knuckled grip and her expression twisted with a mix of pain and fury. Riza's voice had followed her out the door, cutting off as the door slammed shut behind her, but there was a noted lack of Ed shouting, which was never a good thing. 

Al and Roy both got to their feet, Al moving just that littlest bit quicker and stepping towards her with both of his hands held up in a placating manner, saying, "Winry–"

She raised the spanner a bit and demanded, " _Move_ , Alphonse." 

Before Al could actually chance a spanner-induced bump on the head, Roy stepped forward and lightly touched his shoulder. "Is there a problem, Miss Rockbell?" he asked mildly as Al reluctantly shuffled out of the way. 

The door into the house opened again before the last syllable had died, Riza appearing in the doorway with a strained expression. "Sir–"

Roy glanced at her. "We're fine, Colonel," he insisted. "Please go check on Edward." Because his silence really was worrying. (And Roy hoped Miss Rockbell had just taken his leg and left him stranded, rather than actually hurting him to keep him from chasing after her.) 

Riza gave a tight nod, then returned into the house. 

Roy turned his attention to Miss Rockbell just as she took two large steps forward and shoved the rounded end of the spanner against his chest. Then she just stood there and stared at him for a long minute. 

And Roy...wasn't really sure how to respond to this; growing up like he had, he'd learnt how best to react to most women who'd been hurt by someone he didn't know, and he'd broken his share of hearts over the years and knew what to expect when he was the one they were angry at. But this, where he knew and at least respected everyone involved, had been dragged into the middle of the mess before it had come to a head... 

He could have handled yelling, could probably have figured out violence – had honestly expected one of those reactions, knowing Miss Rockbell's temperament as he did – but he wasn't certain how to respond to a stare, beyond staring back with his best inscrutable mask on. 

And then she stepped back, giving a twirl of her spanner that looked casual, but was somehow as terrifying as Riza reloading one of her guns. "It shouldn't take me more than a day to fix Ed's leg, if there's somewhere I can work?" she said, her tone almost casual. 

Roy blinked, cleared his throat, and offered, "The lighting is better at the kitchen table, but you'll have more room to spread out in the dining room?" 

She hummed and returned to the house. 

Roy turned to Al, found him looking as confused as he felt. "What just happened?" 

"I have...no idea," Al admitted, before letting out a snort and shooting him a helpless look. "She's been going back and forth between furious and resigned since before I got back from Xing. Paninya said she had some plans for if Ed brought back some foreign girl, but that was over a year ago and you..." 

"I am neither foreign, nor a woman," Roy filled in drily. 

Al let out a slightly helpless laugh. "Essentially." 

Roy sighed and pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. "If Miss Rockbell and Edward will be staying here, we may as well collect everyone else and head for the gallery, get out of her way." He cast a glance at Al. "Were you still intending to come with?" 

"I don't want to be in the potential warpath any more than you do," Al insisted. 

Roy offered him a knowing smile. "Let me collect some books for your brother and ring the office." 

Al shrugged and followed him inside, saying, "If we're not going in the wrong direction, we can drop by while we're out?" 

Winry had set up shop in the kitchen and was scowling at Ed's leg, tools strewn out over the table top and a chair she'd brought over. She didn't look up at them, and they moved quickly through the kitchen; Roy had no intention in pushing her temper, and Al clearly felt the same. 

Roy considered Al's question, waited until they'd passed out of the kitchen before replying, "It's not really on the way, but we can certainly drop past while we're out." 

"Roy?" Anastasia called, and they found the Drachmans and Francine all gathered in the study, the princesses both wearing concerned frowns. 

Roy offered them a smile that he'd intended to be reassuring, but couldn't speak to its effectiveness. "I'm going to take some books up to Ed, then we can head out." 

"Good," Riza said as she stepped into the room behind Al. "Edward was hoping you would be coming with us, Alphonse," she added as Roy set about collecting a pile of books that should, he hoped, keep Ed amused for a fair few hours. Assuming he hadn't read them before; he'd kept up with what Ed had borrowed from the library during his youth, but he had no way of knowing what he'd found while he was away. 

"Absolutely," Al agreed. "I'd like to see this art gallery." He let out a snort. "Is he worried I'll distract Winry and he'll never get his leg back?" 

"More likely, he's worried about Anya," Roy pointed out. 

Anastasia let out a huff and muttered a few words in Drachman, which made Natalia giggle and Orlov smirk. "He worries too much," she complained in Amestrisan. 

Al gave a slightly nervous laugh. "Yeah, he kind of does. Sorry?" 

"Hah. You will ease him. It is fine." 

"Did we need to call the office?" Riza asked as Roy left the room with his armful of books. 

"The general said we could swing past the hotel on our way," Al replied. "If we're driving, I can take Winry and my bags and we can drop them off." 

Riza's response was too quiet for Roy to make out as he stepped into his room, but unless Riza had picked up a car from the carpool at some point yesterday, they were going to be walking; he could drive Al and Miss Rockbell over to their hotel once Miss Rockbell was done, if need be. 

Ed was sitting up on the bed, looking irritated, legs laying out in front of him. Or, well, one leg and part of the other, and Roy paused for a moment, because he hadn't seen Ed without his leg since he first found him at the Rockbells'. Without his arm, sure, that hadn't been nearly as uncommon as Miss Rockbell probably would have preferred, but he usually managed to keep his leg in one piece and working order, which Roy had always suspected was more to do with being able to get around on his own, than due to Miss Rockbell's threats. (Even with only one arm, Ed had been able to fight and use alchemy, even if he had to stop to draw arrays, but with only one leg, he was effectively crippled.) 

"Are you going to come in, or are you going to stare like some fucking idiot?" Ed snarled. 

Roy sighed; he should have expected that being effectively crippled would make Ed especially difficult. He stepped up to the bed and dropped the pile of books down next to Ed, then leant in and kissed him. 

Ed held stiff for a beat, then let out a broken noise and caught Roy's shoulders, his return kiss a little desperate. 

Roy let Ed decide when to pull away, then settled onto the bed next to him and cupped his cheek. "Miss Rockbell says she should only need your leg for the day," he offered. 

"I know," Ed muttered, his expression disgruntled, even as he leant into Roy's hand. 

"And your brother is coming with us," Roy added. "I'm fairly certain, between him and Riza and myself, we should be able to handle any trouble." 

Ed let out a huff, his mouth twitching like he'd suppressed a smile; knowing him, he felt like he needed to look cross for some ridiculous reason. "Yeah, well, if you screw up, it's your treaty that's on the line," he muttered. 

"Why is it only my treaty when you get the day off?" Roy complained, smiling. 

"It's _always_ only your treaty," Ed insisted. "I don't remember seeing my name on the damn thing anywhere." 

"An oversight on someone's part." 

"Fuck off." 

Roy leant in and brushed his lips against Ed's, then asked, "Is that enough books, or should I bring up the rest of the bookcase?" 

Ed snorted, finally dropping his irritated air and giving Roy an amused look. "I wouldn't want you to throw your back out." 

"Funny." 

Ed flashed him a wide grin, then glanced at the pile of books. "I should be okay," he decided after a moment, as he brought up a hand and cover's Roy's on his cheek. "You can bring me more if you want, though." 

Roy brushed his thumb along Ed's cheekbone, smiled as his lashes fluttered. "You'll have to let go of my hand," he pointed out. 

Ed huffed and turned his head, pressing a kiss against Roy's wrist when it came into range of his mouth. "Guess I'm not getting more books," he decided. 

Roy chuckled and leant in to kiss him again, smiling against his mouth when Ed's free hand caught at his waist and tugged at him until Roy came closer. "I do have to leave eventually," he pointed out against Ed's mouth. 

Ed huffed. "Al's got it." 

"Whose treaty is on the line?" 

"Anya's." 

Roy chuckled and kissed him again, then gently pulled away, getting to his feet. 

Ed let out a pathetic noise and motioned towards him with grasping hands, his pitiful expression fairly obviously contrived. "Nooo," he complained. "You have to stay and protect me from the she-demon!" 

Roy couldn't help a smile at that. "Are you saying you can't manage Miss Rockbell on your own?" 

Ed glanced away for a moment, then looked back and gave a determined nod. "Can't. Impossible. Winry must be double-teamed or there's no hope." 

Roy caught his smile widening, and it was probably only because he'd just been talking about it with Al, but he heard himself say, with a well of fondness and complete honesty, "I have no idea why I love you, you ridiculous man." 

Ed's eyes went wide and he stared at Roy for a beat, looking rather like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Did you just–?" he asked, his voice shaking. 

Roy cleared his throat, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with Ed's response; this was far from a familiar state of affairs, for him, but he'd expected something other than shock. 

Well, this _was_ Edward, and no matter what his brother might have said about what he needed to hear, commitment was wrapped up in staying, and Ed didn't stay. Roy was okay with that – he was, so long as Ed could promise to come home sometimes – but he'd already said the words, and trying to pretend otherwise, even if it meant Ed ran as soon as he got his leg back – maybe doing this while he _couldn't_ run away, would have to sit and think it over, was a cheat, but it's not like Roy'd planned it – would only end in destruction. 

"I said," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, to keep meeting those shocked gold eyes, "that I love you, Edward Elric." 

Ed was moving before Roy realised he was going to do something stupid, swinging his right leg off the bed and shoving himself up and out of the bed with his arms. 

"Ed!" Roy shouted, stepping forward and grabbing for him, catching him under the arms before he could completely overbalance. "You idiot!" 

Ed leant against Roy, wrapped his arms around his neck, and quietly said, "Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu." 

That Drachman phrase again. Or...almost. Roy felt himself frowning as he sorted through his scattering of Drachman for 'tozhe', finally matched it with 'also'. 

And then his eyes widened, because there were only so many things that Ed could be preceding with 'I also you', and only one that made sense in context: "Love," he whispered. 

Ed's cheeks pinked slightly and he offered a small smile. "Lyublyu," he agreed just as quietly. 

And there Roy had been, thinking Ed might run away, but he'd already committed. Just not in a language Roy was fluent in, which was so freaking _Edward_ , he couldn't even pretend to be surprised. 

"Idiot," he muttered, tightening his grip around Ed's middle. "What did you _think_ I meant when I told you I'd wait for you?" 

Ed let out an irritated huff, his blush darkening. "Don't 'idiot' me, you stupid bastard! You used to wait for me when I was a kid, too! You could have meant–"

Roy silenced him with a kiss, and Ed melted into it, his fingers threading through Roy's hair. 

Ed pulled back after a moment, his eyes practically _glowing_ , and quietly said, "I love you too, Roy." 

Leave it to _Ed_ to turn Roy's name into a weakness. And, by the way his mouth tilted up at the corners, he knew it. 

Roy snorted and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Ed's mouth, then shifted his hold, caught the blond under his thighs, and picked him up, which turned out to be much easier than he'd been anticipating. (Though, to be fair, Ed was missing his heaviest limb.) 

"Put me down!" Ed demanded, tightening his grip around Roy's neck; he clearly hadn't expected that. 

"How else am I supposed to get you back into bed?" Roy asked in his best reasonable voice. 

Ed looked away and muttered, "I can hop." 

Roy barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Or you could trust me." 

Ed glanced at him, his brow furrowed. "I trust you. I wouldn't have let Anya come to Central if I didn't trust you." 

Roy set him back onto the bed with a sigh. "That's not what I'm talking about," he returned quietly, before brushing another kiss against the corner of Ed's mouth and slipping from his grip. "But, speaking of Anya, we have a gallery to see." 

Ed caught his hand before he could get out of range, a troubled frown shadowing his face. "I _do_ trust you," he said quietly. "But I don't–"

"You have trouble admitting when you need help," Roy suggested. 

Ed grimaced and nodded. 

Roy took a step back towards the bed and leant forward to catch Ed's other hand, which was laying in his lap, then he firmly pressed the former alchemist's hands together in that way that was familiar to both of them. Ed's eyes met his, filling with understanding. "I'm here," Roy offered quietly, "when you need me." 

Ed gave him a small smile, which very quickly twisted into something far less innocent. "I think I need you in this bed–"

Roy laughed and brought Ed's hands up so he could kiss the tips of his fingers. "Not as much as you need me watching Anya." 

"You suck." 

Roy raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe tonight." 

It took a minute, but then Ed's eyes _gleamed_ and he twisted his hands in Roy's grip, caught his wrists and tugged him forward and down. "Pervert," he breathed before pressing a hard kiss against Roy's mouth, then letting him go with a light shove. "Go guard your treaty, you lazy bastard." 

"That's _General_ Lazy Bastard," Roy insisted, just to make Ed grin, his eyes bright gold and happy. He shot him his best smug smirk, then spun and sauntered from the room. 

Back downstairs, the others were waiting for him. Both princesses were hiding smiles, while Al was shaking his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. Riza and Francine, too, showed signs of amusement, while Orlov was looking more irritated than anything else. "Let's head out," he said, deciding he really didn't want to know what they'd overheard to make them all look so pleased. 

There was a military carpool car sitting parked behind Roy's on the street, and she must have seen something of his surprise on his face, for Riza leant over and murmured, "I had Jean drop it off at my house after the labs, last night." 

Well, that explained why Havoc had brushed off offers of dinner without any pre-date planning. "Remind me to stop misjudging your ability to think ahead." 

Riza shot him a knowing look. "I'll hold that in reserve, sir," she promised, and Roy expected she'd bring it up at some point in future to win an argument. 

Business as usual, then. 

-0-

The gallery was interesting – mostly local artists, but the Colourway Alchemist, who had started the gallery, had contributed a few pieces purportedly painted with alchemy – but small, so it didn't take them long to get through it. They caught lunch, then stopped in at the Drachman embassy, where they found that Kuznetsov had apparently realised he'd have to start speaking Amestrisan, because he greeted them in that and spent most of their visit using it. (Roy was, admittedly, a little surprised at how unnoticeable his accent was, though Ed had said he'd had an excellent teacher.) 

Kuznetsov had already met with most of the civilian council, as well as a number of the brass. He was hardly the most crafty politician Roy had ever met, but he could give many of them a run for their money, by his own word, and Roy had butted heads with members of the council and the brass enough times to believe him; if they'd found him easy prey, they wouldn't currently be having polite refreshments in the parlour. 

Kuznetsov'd had a chance to look over some of the currently playing evening shows, and while he admitted that Orlov and Lagunov would both likely be bored by all of them – given neither of them understood more than a handful of Amestrisan – he'd found a couple that he suspected the princesses would especially enjoy. Which, well, they did look interested in a couple, so they settled on one and then, since Roy doubted Ed would approve of taking Anastasia and Natalia to a show without him (especially since Orlov was making sounds like he'd rather stay in the embassy during it), went out and got tickets for the next evening, when Ed would be able to attend with them. 

"We will have to go shopping," Anastasia admitted. "Innokenti brought things he might wear to a formal occasion, but Natalia and I did not." 

"And you know Brother doesn't have anything," Al pointed out helpfully. 

Anastasia grinned and shook her head. "I have never seen him in better than his button-up and an old waistcoat." 

"He has a waistcoat?" Roy couldn't help but ask, and Al and both princesses laughed. He snorted. "I doubt you or Miss Rockbell brought anything, either," he said to Al. 

Al shook his head. "I didn't, no. Winry might have something, but she'd also be happy to go shopping for something nice." 

Roy looked at Francine, who sighed and admitted, "I'd also need something, unless they're fine with my uniform." 

"Probably," Riza offered with a shrug, "but you'll stand out if the rest of us are in civilian wear; we're not too far off in size, if you'd prefer to try some of my things?" 

Francine blinked and nodded. "I'd appreciate a chance to look," she decided. 

Roy sighed. "It sounds like we'll be making a shopping excursion tomorrow, then. After the museum, I expect?" 

"It will be a good stress relief, yes?" Anastasia suggested, wearing a smile that said she knew it wouldn't be a relief to part of the group. 

Al snorted and shot Roy a conspiring grin. "You can buy Brother a proper wardrobe; he can't complain about how he'll need to be able to fit everything he owns in a suitcase, any more." 

"I do hope you're intending to assist me with that particular endeavour, Alphonse," Roy returned flatly. 

Al let out a nervous laugh. "Oh. Yeah. We can ask Winry?" 

Roy turned a bland stare on him. "I do hope you're intending–"

Al huffed and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, sir, I understand why Brother's always calling you names." 

"Only sometimes?" Francine muttered in a voice intended to carry. 

Roy sighed; he was resigned to being ganged up on. 

-0-

Miss Rockbell wasn't done yet by the time they got back, but Al seemed quite pleased by that, making his way upstairs to – Roy would guess – have that conversation with Ed that he'd mentioned over the phone. 

As for Roy, he got dragged into a discussion about which shops would be best for their purposes, and whether they should actually bother _buying_ formal dress for the visitors, or just rent them. Given Al – and Miss Rockbell, acting as his plus one – got dragged to an event hosted by the Xingan ambassador about once every three months and had complained about having to rent a suit on more than one occasion where Roy had heard, Roy figured it might be about time to get both of them proper formal dress, which they could leave with Roy or Riza when they returned to Rush Valley. Ed, likewise, would probably find himself in need of formal dress, between his connections to both Drachma and Xing, and whatever they ended up making public about his and Roy's relationship, if they ever did. 

For the princesses and Francine, however, renting gowns for the evening seemed far more sensible and, as Anastasia was quick to point out, for herself and Natalia, "Next time we are to visit your Central City, we will be intending to do so, and so will bring things that we might wear to more formal occasions." Which was far more sensible, in the long run, and less likely to bring Treasury to attempt murdering Roy for draining the vaults in the name of a treaty that had already been signed. 

When Miss Rockbell was done, she stopped in the doorway of the study, holding Ed's leg in her arms. "General, come with me," she ordered, before turning and stalking away. 

Roy traded an uncertain look with Riza, but got up and followed Miss Rockbell upstairs without a word. 

They found Ed and Al in the middle of a debate of some variation, which seemed to be made up of more sweeping gestures, half-formed words and phrases, and nonsense equations than anything sensible, but as soon as Miss Rockbell stepped into the room, both Elrics turned to look at her with trepidation. 

"Al," she ordered in a tone that invited no arguments, "out. Ed, lay down." 

Al wasted no time in brushing past Roy, but Ed stubbornly remained sitting up, arms crossed over his chest and expression mulish. "Why's the bastard here?" he demanded, and Roy might have been hurt if he hadn't been wondering the same thing. 

Roy couldn't see her face, but something in Miss Rockbell's expression had Ed scooting down the bed and obediently laying down. Miss Rockbell moved towards the bed and dropped Ed's leg down in the empty space it should occupy a bit carelessly. "Come here, Mustang," she called over her shoulder. 

Roy stepped over, offering Ed a helpless frown when he caught his irritated glare. 

"Winry–" Ed started. 

"Shut up," Miss Rockbell ordered and Ed let out a huff and closed his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. 

Roy stopped at the end of the bed, frowning between Ed's defensive posture and Miss Rockbell's hard stare. "Explain," he ordered, using his commander voice. 

Miss Rockbell scoffed. "Explain," she repeated, shooting him a smile that was clearly meant to make him back down. 

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Need I remind you, Miss Rockbell, that you are a guest in my home," he returned icily. "I understand that he hurt you, but I will not play second fiddle to your revenge. Either explain your intentions, or I'll have Colonel Hawkeye escort you to your hotel." 

Miss Rockbell stared at him for a long moment before, inexplicably, smiling; not the smile that was meant as a threat, but something almost approving. And then, in a voice far closer to the cheerful tone Roy was used to hearing from her, she said, "Somehow, I forgot that you're not nearly so easy-going and soft as you like to pretend." 

Roy just kept glaring, uncertain how to take this personality shift. 

She rolled her eyes and picked up Ed's leg. "Reattachment hurts," she said flatly. 

" _Winry_ ," Ed snarled, and Roy glanced over to spot a glare that he recognised as one he always wore to hide something he perceived to be a weakness. 

"I am aware of the specifics of automail prostheses, Miss Rockbell," Roy returned just as flatly. "They devote a day to it at the military academy." And he'd refreshed his knowledge when Ed had joined up, and again when Havoc had been injured. He was far from an expert, and he lacked the personal experience, but he knew it was a ridiculously painful surgery, and that reconnecting the nerves after the automail had been removed was likewise no stroll through the park. He also knew – the reason he'd gone researching after Ed had joined his team, actually – what sort of damage, in a general way, would cause the wearer pain, because he'd needed to know when he could let Ed back out in the field and when he needed to order him back to Resembool. Because Ed very clearly had a high pain tolerance, and he'd seen his bull-headed determination during their first meeting. 

Miss Rockbell considered that, then gave a sharp nod. "Fine." She pointed at Ed, whose jaw was clenched. "He usually falls asleep, but you're going stay with him and keep him off his leg for at least four hours." Then she turned to return Ed's glare. "Because you are a stupid, careless _idiot_ who never listens when he's told to _stay in bed_."

" _Once_ ," Ed bit out. 

Miss Rockbell huffed and set his leg back on the bed more gently, carefully aligning it. "Shut up. You're Mustang's problem, now. And _you_!" She turned to Roy, pointing with one hand towards the head of the bed. "Go sit. I don't need you hovering over me." 

Roy looked up at Ed and offered him a questioning look, because he didn't actually need to be in the room for the reattachment, guessed that was at least half the reason Ed was so tense, knowing him. 

Ed was still for a moment, his expression tight, before he unfolded his arms and held out one hand towards Roy. 

Roy stepped quickly around the bed and caught Ed's hand as he sat next to him, pretended he didn't notice how much it was shaking as he pressed a light kiss against Ed's knuckles. 

Ed closed his eyes and put on a smile that was really more of a grimace, his fingers curling around Roy's hold. 

"Good," Miss Rockbell decided, before, "Three, two–"

Ed's face went tense with pain, jaw clenching and eyes squeezing shut. His hand clenched around Roy's, tight enough to hurt, and Roy tightened his own grip back in response, as if he could act as a counterpoint to the pain he couldn't even begin to guess at. 

And then Ed opened his eyes and loosened his grip, snarled out an irritated, "Are you incapable of being gentle?" towards Miss Rockbell. 

"Nope!" Miss Rockbell returned, sounding far too cheerful, as she pulled out a couple tools out of some pocket or another and started tightening a few things. 

Ed's face was still lined with pain, but it didn't show in his voice when he muttered, "I'm getting a new mechanic." 

"I know a few people who would be happy–" Miss Rockbell started because, clearly, this post-reattachment banter was normal. (Which didn't surprise Roy, really.) 

"I'm not signing on with anyone in Rush Valley," Ed snarled. "You're all fucking psychopaths." 

From Miss Rockbell's grin, which Ed likely couldn't see, she considered that a compliment. 

Ed looked over at Roy. "Help me find a new mechanic." 

Roy blinked, then put on a considering look and offered, "I'm sure there are any number of mechanics in Central who would love the chance to brag they were the personal mechanic of _the_ Fullmetal Alchemist." 

"On second thought," Ed muttered while Miss Rockbell laughed. 

Then she leant up and tapped Ed's cheek with the butt of a screwdriver, bringing him to lean up slightly on his free elbow and glare at her. She flashed him a sharp smile. "You're good. If you wait more than two years again before you come for a tune-up, I'm upgrading you." 

"Spare me," Ed snarled. "And get the fuck out of our room." 

_'Our room'_. That probably shouldn't have settled quite so warmly in Roy's chest, and he cleared his throat and drily said, "Please inform Colonel Hawkeye that we'll be ordering in, unless someone is interested in making a meal." 

"Yeah, all right," Miss Rockbell agreed as she jumped to her feet. "Four hours." 

" _Out_ ," Ed ordered, pointing towards the door. 

She flashed him a sharp smile, then left, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. 

"Hate her," Ed muttered, turning towards Roy, his free hand grasping for his waist. 

Roy shifted so he could lean back against the headboard, then helped manoeuvre Ed so he could recline against his chest, right leg pulled up, not quite to his chest, while his left leg was stretched out in front of them, pressed tight against Roy's own outstretched left leg. "Is this going to be like on the train?" he couldn't help but ask as he wrapped his arms around the blond. 

"Shut up," Ed muttered, before flinching, his hands clenching in Roy's shirt. 

"Ed?" he asked, concerned. 

"Nerves," Ed gritted out. He let out a controlled breath and relaxed against Roy again. "Talk about something stupid that I don't have to participate in," he said, and there was something uncertain in his voice, almost like he couldn't believe he was actually requesting that. 

"Shall I tell you Elicia's favourite bedtime story?" Roy offered, because that was the first thing to come to mind. 

Ed pulled away enough to give him a flat look. "You'd better not be hiding any storybooks in reach of this bed, bastard, or I–" He snapped his mouth shut, a grimace flashing over his face, before dropping back against Roy's chest with a disgruntled noise. 

"I made it up," Roy admitted, and he was probably going to get punched for it, but at least it should distract Ed. "Let's see, how did it start again? Oh, right. There once were two golden princes, who loved each other very much. They lost their parents very young, you see, and their evil uncle had banished them from the palace, so all they had were each other and the kindly old woman who had raised them and her granddaughter. 

"One day, a handsome soldier in their uncle's army came–"

"You're fucking shitting me," Ed interrupted with a choked laugh. 

"Hush. Who's telling the story here?" 

Ed groaned and pressed his face against Roy's chest and muttered something that may or may not have been in Amestrisan, but was almost certainly uncomplimentary. 

"One day," Roy repeated, "an _extremely_ handsome–" Ed scoffed "–soldier in their uncle's army came and begged the princes to help him depose the evil king, for while he didn't know who the princes were, they were both extremely talented alchemists. And the princes, for they were both good souls who couldn't stand to watch their people suffer, were quick to agree." 

"Lies," Ed muttered. 

Roy covered his mouth with one hand, felt Ed's mouth turn with a smile against his palm as he continued, "The princes disguised themselves with the help of the older woman and her granddaughter, then followed the _extremely handsome_ –" Ed's shoulders shook with what Roy was fairly certain was laughter "–soldier back to the capital city. Alas, the handsome soldier was too lowly placed to have an opportunity at the evil king, but he knew when the people were hurting, and the kind princes–" Ed snorted "–were always happy to go and help those people the–"

Ed yanked Roy's hand away from his mouth and warned, "If you start calling yourself 'handsome' again–"

Roy cleared his throat and offered, "Supremely dashing?" 

"I'm going to punch you," Ed warned with a laugh. 

"Heartthrob?" 

"Mustang." 

"Smoking ho–"

" _Roy_ ," Ed complained, smacking his chest. "You're going to be on actual fire in a minute here." 

Roy chuckled and kissed the top of Ed's head. "Elicia likes it when I comment on how handsome the soldier is." 

"That's because Elicia likes you, for some inexplicable reason." 

"You like me too," Roy pointed out. 

Ed scoffed. "I desp–ise you," he returned, voice hitching as he flinched in response to the pain again. 

Roy slipped one hand under Ed's vest and rubbed at the skin he found. "I'm fluent in Edward Elric-ese, you realise." 

Ed snorted as he relaxed against Roy again. "Idiot. Fine, tell your stupid, overly complimentary story." 

"Have I mentioned," Roy murmured, "how devastatingly gorgeous the eldest prince is?" 

Ed let out a groan and turned his face against Roy's chest, muffling his muttering. 

Roy smiled and kissed the top of his head again. "Where was I? Oh, yes: The kind princes were both always happy to help any people the soldier sent them to, though they always did so in their own, often inconvenient, manner. Which, while it annoyed the soldier, was far more troublesome for the evil king. 

"In this way, as time passed, the soldier gathered supporters with the help of the princes, climbed closer and closer to a position where he could remove the evil king at last. 

"But, unbeknownst to the soldier and the princes, the evil king was aware of their efforts and left them alone only because he believed there was no way they could stop his evil plan from coming to fruition. And on that day, the Promised Day, when the moon swallowed the sun, the evil king enacted his terrible plan to steal the life of all his people." 

"But it failed," Ed said. "The princes and the soldier and their allies stopped the evil king." 

"Yes," Roy agreed quietly, "we did. The youngest prince sacrificed himself to save his brother–" Ed's breath hitched "–for he loved him that much. And, after the elder prince sent his evil uncle to a place where he could never hurt anyone again, he gave his alchemy to bring his brother back from death, for he loved his little brother that much." 

"And why," Ed asked, his voice rough, "did the princes not take the throne?" 

"Because they realised they didn't need a throne to help their people. So they entrusted it to the soldier, and the younger prince went east, while the elder prince went west, and they made peace with their neighbours. For they were good, those princes, still as shining gold as the day they were born, and they believed everyone deserved to live in peace." 

Ed pressed a kiss against the bottom of Roy's jaw. "And the elder prince and the soldier realised they were both idiots who loved each other and lived happily ever after," he said, with a flippant tone. But, when Roy looked down at him, he found his eyes shining with what might have been tears. 

"I think," he whispered, cupping Ed's cheek, "I'm going to have to make that the new ending." Then he leant in and brushed a gentle kiss against Ed's mouth. 

"Fuck you," Ed whispered against his mouth. 

Roy smirked. "Not for at least four hours." 

Ed huffed, gold eyes gleaming. "All she said was you had to keep me in _bed_ for four hours." 

Roy bit back a laugh. "Four hours of sex? I'm not sure my stamina's quite _that_ impressive." 

Ed coughed and glanced away. "Well, we'll have to take a break for food in the middle," he pointed out. And then he flinched again, his mouth twisting down in discomfort, before he caught Roy's gaze and whispered, "I wouldn't mind the distraction." 

Roy considered that; managing pain with sex probably wasn't a particularly good plan, but he could think of a few positions that wouldn't chance Ed putting any strain on his leg or make him move it much at all, and he was drawing a blank on any other possible distraction. He sighed. "Let me go close the door the rest of the way," he decided. 

Ed pressed a hard kiss to his mouth, his eyes bright with gratitude, before letting go and leaning forward so Roy could slide out from behind him. 

And, okay, so maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad idea after all. 

-0-

Since Riza offered to take Al and Miss Rockbell back to their hotel, and Ed's four hours of being stuck in bed where to end fairly close to when Roy had intended to turn in, anyway, they ended up turning in after Roy took their dinner dishes down and he'd activated the alchemic traps. 

The next morning, Roy made a mild breakfast for his household; previous experience had taught him that visits to the museum didn't always settle well with full stomachs, especially as some previous Führer had insisted they not censor any of their nation's trials or victories, which the museum administration had agreed with and stood by, despite the ever-swaying pendulum of public opinion. Ed, unsurprisingly, had complained about the 'rationing', and Roy had promised a large lunch, assuming he didn't mind shopping on a full belly? 

Ed had proceeded to curse all of them out in various languages – Roy understood the Amestrisan and Cretan, recognised some of the Drachman, and Anastasia and Natalia's uncertain expressions suggested there was at least one other language thrown in – for a good few minutes. And, when they met up with Al and Miss Rockbell outside the museum, he cursed them both out as well. 

To which Al responded by teaching him some Xingan curses. Because, yes, they were related, and each other's enablers. 

The museum was a sobering place, and relatively quiet, as school groups tended to make up the majority of their patrons, in Roy's experience, but the Central schools usually visited in the spring, and it was early October. 

The quiet lasted about two displays. And then Ed, scowling at the display of the original military uniform for an officer – as much as Roy disliked the current office uniform, he was really glad they'd done away with the half-capes and gaudy hats – started reading the descriptive plaque in Drachman. Which...okay. Roy could admit to being impressed, because the plaque was only in Amestrisan, and he was reading it at a speed that didn't suggest he was translating as he went. 

Then, not to be outdone, Al did the same in Xingan, reading over Ed's shoulder. (Which had earned him a scowl.) 

And then both Elrics turned to Roy, Ed wearing a massive grin. "No," he returned. 

"Oh, come on, bastard," Ed tried. "Prove you're as smart as you think you are." 

Roy put on an unimpressed stare. "First, I have no need to 'prove' my intelligence to anyone. Second, I can't translate as quickly as you can." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "I'll help you. Come _on_. It's good practise." 

Roy turned and moved on to the next display, deciding that ignoring Ed's wide grin was his best choice. 

Ed and Al repeated their translating at the next three plaques, trading off shooting Roy expectant looks while the other was translating. Anastasia joined them at the fourth plaque, reading it in Drachman, while Ed changed to what Roy suspected was Aerugonian. 

He lasted another two plaques before, under the power of Ed, Al, Anastasia, and Natalia's expectant looks, he finally gave in and stumbled through an embarrassingly slow Cretan translation. But Ed only corrected him twice and offered him a word he couldn't think of four times, which was a(n admittedly) nice boost to his ego. 

(It wasn't that easy, having an acclaimed genius as a lover, okay?) 

By the time they got out of the museum a little after lunchtime – finally giving in to the unimpressed stares of the three employees who had taken to following them around, clearly lacking the nerves to tell off a party counting a member of the brass among their number (Roy assumed it was his authority that held them back) – Roy felt far more secure in his Cretan, so maybe Ed had a point about it being good practise. And he'd picked up a handful of new Drachman, while also getting a feeling for spoken Xingan and – Ed had admitted, when pressed – Aerugonian. (Which wouldn't mean much when he finally started trying to learn them, given, but at least he knew what they sounded like; if someone without an obvious nationality started talking to him in an unfamiliar language, he had a better chance of knowing what sort of translator he needed.) 

They caught a slightly late lunch, then made for the shops Roy and Riza had settled on. All the best shops were separated by gender, which visibly made Ed nervous, but Roy had insisted on shops within shouting range, because he was getting used to anticipating to Ed's paranoia, which seemed to help. 

Al didn't take long to settle on a suit, so he went to join Orlov outside the shop where the women were – Roy expected – fawning over gowns. Which left Roy with Ed. 

Ed, who seemed to think a black suit was too boring, but a coloured shirt or bowtie wasn't enough of a statement. The gentleman assisting him made a valiant attempt to find a suit that was bright enough for Ed's tastes, but was looking rather frazzled by the time Roy realised what was going on. 

"Edward," he called in his best commander voice, "pick something, or I'll pick for you." 

"I'm not afraid of your tastes, Mustang," Ed returned. 

Roy smiled and raised an eyebrow at him. 

Ed stared at him for a moment, apparently realised Roy would pick the least comfortable suit he could find, then turned back to the hassled shopkeep and said, tone resigned, "That second suit, the one without the buttons in the cuffs, and a white shirt and black bowtie is fine." 

The shopkeep left to find the requested articles, his movements irritated, and Roy barely resisted the urge to rub tiredly at his eyes; he'd known Ed was going to be difficult, and he was sort of disgusted with himself for taking so long to put a stop to it. 

Well, there was one fairly easy way to smooth things over with the shopkeep, even if it would irritate Ed, and Roy waited until the man was within hearing range again, the requested clothing in his arms, before tiredly saying, "Must _everything_ be a trial with you, Fullmetal?" 

Ed shot him a glare. "Go fuck yourself, bastard," he snapped in response. "It's not like I asked you arseholes to drag me out shopping." 

The shopkeep was visibly more cheerful at the mention of Ed's former title. He didn't presume to use it himself, which was really for the best, but his renewed smile said he wasn't likely to forget anytime soon that he'd served him. 

Ed waited until after they'd paid and stepped outside before muttering, "You do realise he's gonna go straight out and tell all his mates I was here, right?" 

Roy shrugged. "More likely, he'll wait until he closes up shop." He raised an eyebrow at Ed. "How many blond brothers do you think I take shopping?" 

"Just Al and me, I should hope," Ed quipped. 

Roy nodded. "As soon as our shopkeep friend mentions you called your brother 'Al' and he called you 'Brother', someone's going to connect the dots." 

Ed huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing towards where Al had struck up a conversation with Francine, who had clearly decided she was done standing around in the shop. "I guess." Then he glanced over at Roy. "Are you going to take Al up on his suggestion? Drag me out for more than I can fit in my suitcase?" 

Roy blinked. "...are you two telepathic?" he couldn't quite keep himself from asking, since Ed hadn't seemed to know about the shopping trip until Roy had mentioned it, and Roy hadn't _heard_ anyone mention the extra clothing suggestion. 

Ed burst out laughing, reaching out a hand that Roy caught to help keep himself upright. "Having had occasion to test that, I can say with relative certainty that we don't," he offered once he'd caught his breath. 

Roy snorted. "I should be more surprised that you actually tested that, but knowing you..." 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Roy squeezed the hand he was still holding and asked, "If I took you around to some other shops, would you be equally as difficult?" 

Ed looked down at their joined hands, a considering frown on his face. "Well," he said slowly, "I can go with you, and I'll probably find all my old clothing burnt–"

Roy made an interested noise; that wasn't a terrible idea. 

Ed shot him a scowl that was belied by the gleam of humour in his eyes, "Or I can wait until I get back to Drachma and Anya drags me out, then have to cart it all back over the border with me." 

"Difficult choice, I see," Roy returned. 

Ed let out a loud, clearly contrived sigh. " _Fine_ ," he decided, tone irritated. "I'll behave myself for an _hour_."

"It's a miracle," Roy quipped, because he couldn't help himself. 

Ed caught Roy's pocket watch chain and pulled it from his pocket, clicking it open as soon as he had the watch in his hand. "I'm timing you," he warned, turning the watch around so Roy could see the time. 

Somehow, Roy managed to suppress a smile. "Well then," he said drily, as he took his watch back, "I guess we had best get moving." 

"What about the others?" Ed asked once Roy had put his watch away and directed them to a nearby shop that would serve their purposes, without – hopefully – tweaking Ed's natural desire to torment overly helpful shop assistants. 

"There's an ice cream parlour around the corner." 

Ed shot him a disgusted look. "Did you seriously just make me pick between shopping and _ice cream_?"

"You can get some to go when we're done," Roy promised. 

Ed huffed and looked very much like he wanted to cross his arms over his chest, except neither of them had let go of the other's hand yet. "You have to make me apple pie," he announced. 

"You have an obsession with that pie." 

"I like apple pie," Ed insisted, before shooting Roy a look that immediately put him on guard. " _Please_ , Roy?" 

Well, that was far less destructive than he'd been fearing. "I'll try to find time to make it tomorrow." 

Ed grinned, then sing-songed, "Still timing you!" 

Roy snorted and used his grip on Ed's hand to tug him into the shop, muttering, "Of course you are." 

-0-

Ed managed to keep from alienating any other shopkeepers, though Roy suspected that had more to do with the rest of the group joining them in the second shop and Anastasia and Miss Rockbell stepping forward to 'help' and really just serving as a focus for his irritation, than anything else. As promised, Roy bought Ed ice cream after, much to Al's obvious amusement. 

They separated to go back to their various lodgings and change, with the promise to meet up at the Drachman embassy in a couple hours to pick up Kuznetsov and drop off Orlov. 

The first thing Roy insisted they do upon getting up to his and Ed's room, was unpack and put away all of his new clothing, which Ed agreed to with only minimal grumbling. Of course, he'd suggested, as he put the last shirt away, that they should probably take a shower before getting into their formal dress. And, to conserve water and time, they should _clearly_ shower together. 

(In retrospect, Roy was fairly certain they hadn't managed to conserve anything; at least their housemates knew to expect they wouldn't be able to change in anything approaching a timely manner?) 

Ed locked himself in the bathroom to change, because, "We're never going to get dressed at this rate, and you know it." 

Roy was fairly certain he could keep from molesting Ed just because he was naked, but he could see the sense in not tempting fate. 

As often as Roy had taken his aunt's women out to dinner or evening shows – either as part of their payment for whatever information they'd brought him, or because he'd got word that something had gone to shit in their personal lives and he thought they needed a pick-me-up – he'd never bothered to get anything more fancy than the basic black dinner suit with a black bowtie and a white shirt. At least he and Ed would match, since the blond had settled on a black suit, though the styles of their jackets were slightly different. 

When Ed finally stepped out of the bathroom, finger-combing his long hair back into a high tail, Roy realised that seeing Ed dressed up, for once – trying on the suits hadn't really counted, since Roy hadn't seen the ensemble on him after the alterations so they'd fit had been finished – was nearly as tempting as getting him naked. 

And then Ed glanced up, his hair fixed, and stopped, raking Roy with a heated gaze. "Well, then," he said, voice gone low, as he closed the last few steps between them. "There I was, going to bitch about how much of a pain in the arse getting dressed up was, but I might have to change my mind." 

Roy chuckled and reached up to fix Ed's crooked bowtie. "There are some perks to nice clothing, besides being socially preferred for fancy occasions. That said, do attempt to resist the urge to remove any part of them until after we're back home after the show." 

Ed snorted. "Likewise, bastard," he retorted, before catching Roy's hands. "Can I borrow your hands for a moment?" 

Roy raised an eyebrow at him; what was Ed intending to use alchemy for? "Of course." 

Ed flashed him a quick, grateful smile, then pressed Roy's hands together. 

The array that flickered through Roy's mind was somehow familiar, though he couldn't quite place it, and was clearly low-powered, because it didn't take long at all before Ed pressed one of Roy's hands against his chest. Red bled across the white button-up, the same shade as his old coat. 

"Where did you get the colour from?" 

Ed blinked at him, then shook his head. "You're thinking about it wrong; the absence or presence of colour is determined by which colours a particular object reflects or absorbs, which can be manipulated on an atomic level." 

_Atomic manipulation_ ; that array had looked familiar because it shared some elements with Roy's flame array, which was intended to create and direct a flame by directing the spark along oxygen atoms that he manipulated. 

"White," Ed continued, all unaware of Roy's mind going off on its own track, "reflects everything, of course, so it's just a matter of telling the fabric to only reflect red and absorb the rest of the light wave. Which I guess is hard for–"

Roy shut him up with a kiss, only to feel Ed grin against his mouth. 

"I bet you could do it," Ed murmured against Roy's lips. 

"Very likely," Roy admitted, because atomic manipulation was something he did as easily as breathing, any more, though he didn't usually deal in atoms packed into a solid object. Air and water, certainly, but–

Ed's eyes – eye, too close to be separate – gleamed. "Try," he insisted. 

Roy blinked. "Why?" 

Ed glanced away for a moment, before looking back at Roy with determination bright in gold eyes. "So we match." 

Roy couldn't help but smile at that; well, he _had_ been thinking that he and Ed would match, with their black-on-white ensemble, but then Ed had changed his shirt. "Fair enough," he agreed, and happiness brightened Ed's eyes. 

Roy stepped back and closed his eyes, trying to recall the array Ed had used. It came to him almost immediately, perfectly formed, accompanied by everything he needed to know to use it, as though, in borrowing his Gate, Ed left behind a copy of his knowledge of any array he used. Which would be an interesting study to run later, involving Al so they knew their findings weren't a fluke. 

He shook his head, pushed his inner scientist back into his corner, and focussed on activating the array. 

When he opened his eyes, Roy found his shirt had turned the same colour as Ed's, and the wide, proud grin on the blond's face made Roy feel rather like he had the first time he'd managed to use his flame alchemy without setting something he hadn't intended to on fire. 

"I think," Ed said, pressing himself against Roy and cupping his face, "I like you in red." 

As a child, red had meant lipstick and nails coloured to catch the eye, the roses that the women that had become his family often brought home and would give him with a fond smile. As a teenager, it had come to mean the spark of Master Berthold's fire, that complicated alchemy that he was never quite ready to learn. 

In Ishval, red had meant targets, the eyes of his enemies-who-shouldn't-be. Red had meant the blood of his countrymen and women on his hands, staining the sand and rocks they were forced to walk among and sleep upon. 

Ten years ago, red had evolved to mean a genius child with gold hair and eyes; insults slung that sometimes cut too deep, and temper tantrums that brought spectators to laughing. Red had come to mean a Stone of mythology, a Stone that was just as blood-stained as the sand and rocks of Ishval. 

Six years ago, red had become one of the colours Roy clung to, one of two that never betrayed him to the whims of the Gate. Red had begun to mean redemption, reflected in the eyes of a people he'd once been ordered to kill. 

Now, here, red still meant gold hair and eyes; still a genius, but older, trials and accomplishments reflecting in those eyes. Red still meant fire and blood, but it also meant redemption and love, and Roy quietly admitted, "It's growing on me." 

Ed's smile gentled, turned into something understanding, and he brushed a brief kiss over Roy's lips. "We should go downstairs," he murmured. 

"Yes," Roy agreed, before catching Ed's mouth in a firmer kiss, pulling away just before it would have turned into one or both of them trying to remove their suits and ripping something. "Gloves," he announced, and Ed laughed as he pulled away. 

Ed had come up with his own gloves by the time Roy finished pulling on his formal ignition gloves – originally, they'd had his circle stitched in white on the back, but now he didn't bother; clapping slowed him down, but the white stitching was difficult, and the formal gloves always felt weird with it – so they made their way downstairs together. 

Anastasia and Natalia both looked quite stunning in gowns of a similar cut, with delicate beading forming swirling patterns around the bodice, a sheer overskirt from the waist down adding volume, and a light jacket that should hold off the evening chill, without needing to be removed inside. The only difference was in the colours of the gowns: Anastasia had picked golden brown, while Natalia had gone with a pale pink. They both also wore jewellery that Roy was fairly certain they'd brought with them, given it seemed far too fine for the shop Riza had taken them to. 

"Ah," Roy said, stopping in the doorway of the study, "I do believe I'm been struck dumb by your beauty, highnesses." 

"That line works a lot better if you can't actually get it out," Ed offered helpfully. 

Roy shrugged. "And yet–"

"Shut up. No one wants to hear your romantic history." 

Anastasia laughed and shook her head. "You two also look good together." She touched her chest. "I like the coordination." 

"Ed's fault," Roy insisted. "He has a weird thing about the colour red that I will never understand." 

"Seriously, shut up," Ed ordered. 

"Actually, that reminds me." Roy turned to Ed and said, with a straight face, "If you stood in front of a mirror and held up eleven roses, you would see twelve of the most beautiful things in the world." 

Ed stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide with disbelief, before he took a swing that Roy didn't even have to try to dodge. "You did _not_ just use a fucking _pick-up line_ –"

"You're so beautiful," Roy offered, "you made me forget my pick-up line."

Ed groaned and covered his face while the princesses both laughed. "Kill me now."

Roy tugged one of his hands away and pressed a kiss to the back. When Ed peeked out at him, he winked and said, "We should get going before we're late." 

"No more pick-up lines," Ed insisted as he and Roy led the way from the room. 

"I make no promises."

Ed fell back to walk with Anastasia and pleaded, **"Help,"** in Drachman. 

**"No,"** Anastasia replied, followed by something Roy didn't quite catch, but was fairly certain meant she was too amused.

Once everyone was out of the house, as Roy was locking up, he thought he heard the phone ringing but shrugged it off; if it was important, they'd call back, and he knew better than to make Riza wait.

.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that shit you lot have been waiting to hit the fan? Enjoy. XD
> 
> In this chapter, I sort of tackle Cretan and Aerugonian alchemy. Sort of. Aerugonian stuff was pulled out of my arse, Cretan stuff was borrowed – visually – from the _Milos_ film. (I spent a day hunting down canon arrays and looking between the Amestrisan arrays and the _Milos_ arrays and just...the fuck. You'll see.)  
>  Related, the _Milos_ film isn't canon for the fic. Mostly because I'm not a fan of it – the art is kind of off-putting, imo, and where they suggest it fits into the continuity has never made sense to me – but also so I could write that scene. XD

Roy did use a few more pick-up lines on Ed, just because the groaning and vaguely threatening gestures seemed to be a source of amusement for everyone. 

They got dinner at one of the fancier places near the theatre district which Roy knew to have a reasonable selection of Amestrisan fare, and since neither of the princesses had proven to be particularly picky, he assumed it was a safe bet. (It was; even Kuznetsov managed to find something without too much trouble, and finished the whole thing without looking like he was doing so to be polite.) 

After dinner, they joined the crowd outside the theatre. Given Roy's rank, they were shown in ahead of the rest of the crowd, and Ed looked like he wanted to complain about that, but was too relieved to have Anastasia and Natalia off the street to make a big deal about it. (Not that Roy would tell him, but he usually refused the offer to be sat in advance, or waited to show up after the doors were opened. But they'd already been nearby, and he knew Ed would be more comfortable with fewer sniping positions. And, too, he could use more pick-up lines away from the crowd.) 

The play the princesses had settled on was about a soldier who was being deployed to a conflict and had to leave his family behind. It was an older play, clearly written as propaganda for the military, though no one could say exactly _when_ it had been written or who the original playwright was. Roy had it seen any number of times over his life, as someone would generally do it at least once a season, and the conflict referenced tended to change, depending on which troupe was doing it and what the most recent bloody conflict had been. (When he'd just come back from Ishval and the play had referenced that conflict, he had walked out, and refused to go again until after his return to Central, following Maes' death.) 

The play followed the soldier for the first half, covering the 'glory' of fighting for your nation, but also touching on the sorrow found in forging friendships with people who didn't make it. The second half followed the soldier's family, focussed on how strong they were and how they supported the soldier and the military from home. There were two different closing scenes, and the head of the troupe would always come out at the start of the final act and ask the audience if they felt the soldier should return home or not. Roy had seen both versions a handful of times, and while he had preferred the version where the soldier returned home, honoured and victorious, as a child, he'd found a strange sort of comfort in the soldier's death, after his own tour in Ishval. 

During intermission, judging by their reactions, he and Riza were the only two members of their party who had seen the play before. The Elrics and Miss Rockbell having missed it didn't surprise him, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from raising an eyebrow at Francine. 

She scowled at him. "My family never had the money for such frivolities as plays," she snapped, clearly defensive, "and I've had little use for them since." 

Roy held up a staying hand. "I'm not judging you, Major; Colonel Hawkeye hadn't seen this play until six years ago." 

"The general insisted he'd only ever gone on his own once, and that version had been terrible, so _someone_ had to come with him," Riza informed the rest of them drily. Which, okay, yeah, that had, actually, been the line he'd used, though he'd explained why he'd left during intermission, and Riza had fully understood; he suspected, should he explain it again, his fellow Amestrisans would also understand. 

"What, couldn't get a date quick enough?" Ed asked flatly. 

Roy shrugged. "Given the most recent events, I didn't feel like bringing a date to this play." 

"The brigadier general?" Al guessed, and Roy inclined his head. "Yeah, I can see that." 

"Does the soldier die?" Miss Rockbell asked, casting the curtain hiding the stage a worried look. 

"That's up to the audience," Roy admitted. "We'll be asked near the end, and popular opinion decides." 

"You have seen both endings?" Anastasia guessed. 

Roy shrugged. "A few times, yes." 

"I really want to make a comment on frivolities," Ed announced, "but I've met your aunt." 

"Be quiet, Edward," Roy ordered, while Al raised an eyebrow at his brother. And then Roy shot Riza a warning look, which made her hide a smile behind the drink she'd slipped out just before intermission to get. 

Anastasia reached over and covered Ed's mouth, very likely pre-empting something they'd all regret, then asked, "Which ending do you prefer?" 

Roy considered that for a moment, before shrugging. "I don't know that I 'prefer' either. In my experience, both endings are always performed with very honest emotion and, for anyone prone to tearing up, will almost certainly result in such. I think, in the end, it comes down to whether you're looking to leave with a smile or not, which ending is better." 

Pretty much everyone turned to Riza, who cleared her throat and, sounding resigned, admitted, "I've only ever seen the ending where he dies." 

"So, let's aim for the happy ending," Miss Rockbell insisted. 

Anastasia glanced out over the theatre. "You may be assuming much of our vote's power." 

"Think _positive_ , Anya!" Ed insisted. 

"Brother," Al said, looked amused, "Coming from you–"

"Shut up, Alphonse." 

The lights flashed warningly and they all filed back into their seats for the second half. 

In fact, popular opinion was for the soldier to survive, so Riza finally got to see the other ending, and Roy had politely passed his handkerchief to Natalia when he heard her sniffling, while Al sacrificed his for Miss Rockbell. 

As they were filing out of the theatre, Roy heard someone call, "General Mustang, sir!" before a sergeant stopping in front of him and saluted. 

Roy saluted back, frowning. "Sergeant." 

"Sir, the Führer sent me to tell you to ring Lieutenant General Armstrong at your earlier opportunity." 

Oh, that did _not_ sound good. "Thank you, Sergeant," Roy replied before turning to his party, found Riza, Francine, and both Elrics looking grim, while the three Drachmans traded frowns and Miss Rockbell wrung her hands. "Colonel, please return Ambassador Kuznetsov to the embassy and pick up Orlov, then meet me at my house. Alphonse, Miss Rockbell–"

"If it's all the same, sir, I'd like to stay with you until we know what's happening," Al interrupted, wearing the Stubborn Elric Brother expression that Roy had spent four years thinking was something specific to Ed, until he'd met Al in the flesh for the first time and realised it was genetic. 

Roy glanced at Ed, who gave a tight nod. "Very well. Given space limitations, Miss Rockbell, please go with Colonel Hawkeye." 

Miss Rockbell let out an irritated breath, then agreed, "Fine. We can drop by the hotel and I'll get Al and me clothing to change into." 

Al grimaced. "Oh, right." 

Roy glanced at Riza, who gave a firm nod, then started collecting her group, while Roy turned to the two Elrics and the princesses. "Let's go." 

It didn't take them long to get back to his place, and Roy didn't bother taking off his dress shoes, just went straight for the phone and pulled out the book in one of the drawers that had the phone number he'd need. 

_"Fort Briggs Command,"_ the person on the other end said upon picking up. 

"This is General Mustang." 

_"One moment, sir."_

It wasn't even a minute before the line picked back up and Olivier snapped, _"Where the hell have you been, Mustang?"_

"Entertaining our Drachman guests," Roy returned flatly. 

Olivier let out a disgusted noise. _"Of course you were."_

"Is there a point to your urgency, Armstrong?" 

Olivier let out a harsh breath. _"Vickers escaped sometime this afternoon, with one of Briggs' all-terrain vehicles,"_ she stated flatly, and Roy couldn't stop from tensing. _"The men guarding him are both dead, and weren't discovered until the replacement shift came through four hours ago. Welrod reported, when pressed, that Blenheim is also missing, but insists they can't have left North City more than six hours ago."_

"I assume you have people looking for them." 

_"Of course we do,"_ Olivier snapped, _"But they have a head start of at least a two hours, and we can't say for certain where they're headed. Grumman already has Blenheim's family in custody, and Vickers' son voluntarily turned in his badge and agreed to spend a few nights in prison when the MPs found him, but it doesn't sound like any of them have had contact with Blenheim or Vickers since they came north for the negotiations."_

Which meant it was a waiting game to see where the two popped back up. If they were smart, they'd drive along the edge of the north-western mountain range and cross over into Creta, sell military secrets for asylum, and then vanish past the borders. But, given Vickers' issues with Drachman women... 

"I see. By your estimate, how long would it take them to reach Central City?" Because Roy didn't know enough about Briggs' specially-made vehicles to make any guesses, especially since they were constantly updating the technology and, knowing Briggs, never sent Central the most recent plans. 

_"The vehicle he stole, according to records, only had a half-full tank, so they're unlikely to get more than a few hours out of North City, unless they happen to find a supply."_

"Is there a chance he took some with the vehicle?" Roy had to ask. 

Olivier was quiet a little too long, before, tone disgusted, admitting, _"We're still attempting to ascertain that."_

"Fine. Assume they have enough for a full tank; how far should they get before they'll have to walk?" 

_"No closer than the border, and probably a little after dawn, assuming they're staying off the main road. If they're on the main road, they might make it to Altheim."_

Either way, that left them with most of a day's walk, unless they managed to find another vehicle. And, even then, they wouldn't get into Central until the afternoon, at the earliest – Roy knew the central area and civilian vehicles well enough to make that guess – which meant they wouldn't need to actually be on alert until tomorrow. Assuming any of them could manage any sleep. 

"Thank you for the warning, Lieutenant General," Roy said. "We'll be at Central Command tomorrow, should you have any further updates then." 

_"Noted,"_ Olivier returned before hanging up. 

Roy found the Elrics and princesses in the study, all clearly stressed. "Vickers escaped Briggs sometime this afternoon," he reported flatly, paused for Ed's heartfelt curse, then continued, "By all accounts, if he's headed this way, he won't show up until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest, and we're yet uncertain which direction he's heading." 

"But you're assuming he's coming here," Al guessed quietly, and his clear understanding of the situation suggested Ed had filled him in at some point. 

Roy sighed. "If he was smart, he'd head for the Cretan border and beg asylum, but he struck me as having an agenda." He looked at Anastasia and Natalia. "We'll be heading in to Central Command tomorrow morning and you both will remain with at least two members of my team, Edward, Major Kozlova, or Orlov, and either myself or Alphonse at all times." 

"Understood," Anastasia agreed. 

Roy looked at Ed, who gave a tense nod. "Fine." Then he turned to the princesses. "I need you both to share the room closest to Roy and mine, so Al can take the other." 

"Okay," Natalia agreed quietly, while Anastasia sighed and nodded. 

"What about Winry?" Al asked. 

Roy left Ed to field that one while he went to answer the door, admitting Riza, Francine, Miss Rockbell, and Orlov. To Orlov, he said, **"Edward will explain,"** and motioned down the hall, because everyone fluent in speaking Drachman was in the study. As Orlov kicked off his shoes and made for the study, Roy filled in the three women. 

"Winry, you're welcome to stay over at my place tonight," Riza was quick to offer, once Roy was done, "or I can take you back by your hotel and you can either join us at Command in the morning, or spend the day in the city." 

Miss Rockbell frowned, clearly uncertain. 

So Roy offered, "Gracia and Elicia would very likely enjoy the chance to see you." 

Miss Rockbell put on a tired smile at that. "At least I'll be easy to reach," she agreed, and Roy knew she was envisioning all the ways Ed could break his automail. "Can I borrow your phone? I'll like to ring her now and check." 

"Certainly." Roy motioned her towards the phone, then glanced back at Riza. 

"I'll take care of it," Riza promised. "Do you want me to ring the rest of the team and fill them in tonight?" 

"Please; I should probably ring the Führer once Miss Rockbell's done, ensure we're on the same page." 

Riza's expression said she knew how much he wasn't looking forward to that. "Should I bring the car by in the morning?" 

Roy sighed and considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "Given Alphonse's specialty, being in a vehicle will only be a hindrance if something happens; I'd rather walk." Not to mention, if Roy had to use his alchemy, he preferred to do it when he wasn't driving a vehicle, for obvious reasons. Walking had its own dangers, of course, but the ability to easily spread out or duck into nearby buildings outweighed them. 

Riza nodded in understanding. "We'll meet you at Command in the morning, then," she announced as Miss Rockbell hung up the phone. 

"Thank you, sir," Miss Rockbell said as she stepped around him, then held out a bag. "Could you please give that to Al? It's a change of clothing." 

"Of course," Roy agreed, accepting it. "Good night, ladies." 

Riza and Francine both saluted, while Miss Rockbell managed a strained smile, then Roy saw them all out. Once the door was closed, he activated the alchemic traps, then dropped the clothing past Al, reminded everyone not to open any windows, and activated the traps on the back of the house. 

And then he went to ring Grumman; given the minor emergency, maybe he'd get lucky and their Führer would just get to the point, rather than playing the eccentric. (He wasn't holding his breath.) 

-0-

Somehow, Roy managed to get to sleep that night, but Ed woke him up with a nightmare after what his internal clock said could have only been five hours. Ed managed to get back to sleep, but Roy didn't, and after tossing and turning for twenty minutes or so, he finally gave up and got out of bed. 

With all the bedrooms and his study filled, there weren't many places for him to retreat, but he'd remembered the promise about making an apple pie while creeping his way down the stairs, so he made for the kitchen. 

Ed found him as he was slipping the pie into the oven, wrapping an arm around Roy's waist from behind and leaning against his back as he straightened. "Wondered where you'd got to," he mumbled, before letting out a yawn against Roy's shoulder. 

"I was having trouble getting back to sleep." 

"Sorry." 

Roy shrugged; he could hardly blame Ed for having nightmares, and it wasn't his fault that the uncertain danger hanging over their heads meant Roy's mind had started running what-if scenarios and contingency plans almost as soon as it had received the absolute minimum amount of sleep required for him to function. 

Ed pressed a kiss to his nape. "Whatcha making?" 

"Apple pie." 

Ed muffled a laugh against Roy's shoulder. "Is it all for me?" 

Roy shot a flat look over his shoulder. "You're not eating an entire pie, Edward." 

Ed grinned. "Well, since you made it, I suppose it's only fair you get–"

"You're not getting _most_ of a pie, either. Or even half." 

"Well, where's the fun in that?" 

Roy turned in Ed's grasp and leant in to brush a kiss over his grin, then said, "There's a rule in this house about sharing baked goods with everyone in residence; if you want most of a pie to yourself, you'll have to come back without the entourage." 

Ed brushed one hand along Roy's cheek and back to thread into his hair. "Are you bribing me with pie?" 

Roy couldn't help a smile. "I'd bribe you with sex, but I'm fairly certain that was a given." 

"Pervert," Ed muttered before leaning up to press a hard kiss to Roy's mouth, which he was all-too-happy to return. 

They were interrupted before either of them could forget they weren't alone in the house, by Al saying, "Please keep your pants on in the kitchen." 

Ed huffed against Roy's mouth and shot a scowl over his shoulder at where Al was leaning in the doorway. "Prude." 

"Unsanitary," Al returned without missing a beat. "And I've seen your naked arse more than enough times, Brother; spare me." 

"Who said it was gonna be my arse you were seeing?" Ed shot back, twisting so he could actually face Al without removing his arm from Roy's waist. 

(And, really, Ed needed to stop complaining about Roy being a pervert, because he was clearly just as bad.) 

Al just sighed and dropped his face into his hands. 

In some weird Elric-specific version of an apology, Ed offered, "Roy's making us apple pie? It's Mrs Hughes' recipe." 

Al looked up, clearly interested, and Roy had to ask, "What is the obsession with Gracia's pie?" 

The brothers traded looks, and Roy couldn't see Ed's expression, but it was clear from the minute twitches of Al's face that they were having a silent conversation, which had been a lot more impressive when Al didn't have facial expressions. 

Al sighed and offered, "It was the first thing on my list of what to eat. Winry made it for us as a welcome home gift." 

"She got the recipe from Mrs Hughes right before Hughes' death," Ed added quietly. "Winry and I ate the one Mrs Hughes made us on the train; she said she wanted to make one for Hughes as a thank you." 

Roy closed his eyes and nodded; no wonder they were both attached to it, and to it being specifically _Gracia's_ recipe. He pushed Ed towards the table a bit and, once they'd all sat, he offered, "There's an interesting history behind that pie recipe, you know." 

Both brothers shot him interested looks. "Mrs Hughes told Winry she'd met the brigadier general because of that pie," Al said. 

"Wait, when was this?" Ed complained. "I don't remember that story." 

Al shot him a flat look. "Well, if you hadn't _vanished_ for four years..." 

Ed huffed and slumped in his seat. 

Roy suspected Al and Miss Rockbell would be holding that over Ed's head for at least as long as he was gone, and he coughed to hide his smile. "They did, indeed, meet over apple pie," he offered, and they both looked over at him again. "One of Gracia's friends, Molly, came from a family of bakers, and she often helped out at their shop in the mornings. The way Maes told it, as the newest member of the Investigations team, he was tasked with finding a cake for their commander's birthday–"

"Is that a thing?" Ed asked. 

" _Brother_ ," Al complained. 

Ed shrugged. "What? No one ever told me about any parties for the bastard." 

Roy snorted. "It's something of a yearly mission in the Investigations department, I have found, to plan and execute a surprise party for their commanding officer, who is doing their best to discover their plans; the only time Maes tried to get my team to plan something similar, Riza stepped in." 

Ed and Al traded looks before breaking out into snickers. 

"I found out when Maes rang me up to complain about how unfair she was," Roy said flatly. 

"Did you tell him to go fuck himself?" Ed guessed, grinning. 

Roy snorted. "No. I hung up on him, then walked out and informed my team that if anyone tried planning a surprise party without Riza's knowledge, I would set them on fire when they enacted their plan." 

Ed ducked his head to muffle his laughter, while Al shook his head, smiling. "I guess they didn't try any parties?" the younger Elric said. 

"Thankfully," Roy agreed, before pointing at Ed. " _No_."

Ed's eyes glinted, and Roy had a sinking suspicion that any chance of avoiding surprise parties had just gone out the window. (At the least, if Ed was planning a surprise party, he'd most likely do so _in_ Central, which meant Roy would have him for a couple weeks before his birthday, as well as on the day. Which...might just make up for it. Maybe. As long as Gracia or Al were dragged along to nix Ed and his team's worst ideas.) 

Roy sighed. "But, yes, Maes was looking for a cake. He still wasn't particularly familiar with Central City, and he'd been told to be sneaky, so he'd been spending his evenings looking for possibilities in the paper or phonebook, and visiting places for 'breakfast' or 'lunch', said he was trying to find a new favourite bakery. 

"When he walked into Molly's family's shop, Gracia was in the process of cutting some apple pie for another customer. He thought she was beautiful and was – in his own words, mind you – utterly incapable of putting words in the right order. Somehow, he managed to get apple and pie in the right order, so she assumed he wanted some, and he paid for it and fled." 

"He didn't ask about the cake?" Al guessed, smile knowing. 

Roy nodded. "He didn't ask about the cake. So he went back during lunch and ended up speaking with Molly's father about the cake. It turned out that they didn't do cakes, but he was able to point Maes to a couple shops where he'd have better luck, and he did end up getting the cake at one of them and they managed to surprise their commander." 

"Okay, but what about Mrs Hughes?" Ed demanded. 

Roy offered him an amused look. "Maes told me that original pie was only okay, but with his cake dilemma handled, he started going past that bakery on his way in to work in the hopes of seeing Gracia. And, every time, he somehow could only manage to say 'apple pie' to her. So he kept eating the pie every morning for about two weeks before she finally took pity on him and suggested he might like one of the other pies better, since the apple was her contribution and she knew it was terrible." 

"Oh no," Ed moaned, while Al closed his eyes, both of them grinning, because they knew how Maes had been. 

Roy couldn't help a fond smile at the memory of how Maes had told this part of the story, which had apparently necessitated Roy playing Gracia while Maes played himself, and he'd almost set his idiot best friend on fire in retaliation. "As I'm sure you can guess," he said as drily as he could manage, "Maes took offence to her self debasement and managed to find both his tongue and his lungs, which resulted in him telling the entire shop and a few passers-by exactly how beautiful she was and that he'd happily eat her apple pies for the rest of his life because she more than made up for the lack of cinnamon. And then he realised what he'd just done and fled." 

Roy paused a moment to give the brothers the chance to stop laughing into their hands, then continued, "According to Gracia, she probably wouldn't have gone after him, except a couple of regulars and her friend all pushed her. So she packaged up a slice of pie and made for Command, where she spent almost an hour tracking him down. When she found him, she informed him he'd forgotten his pie, gave it to him, and left." 

"Of course she did," Al agreed, shaking his head. 

"And he must have gone back," Ed assumed. 

Roy nodded. "He did. And she asked about his cinnamon comment, because she had been putting cinnamon in, but not enough, I assume?" He shrugged, because he hadn't been interested, when Maes had been telling him the story the first time, in asking after those specifics. (Honestly, at the time, he'd just wanted Maes to shut up and go away, but that had been fairly normal for their friendship.) "He offered, after a couple more days, to be her taste-tester, which turned into talking over her kitchen table while the pie baked." He snorted and shook his head. "Maes talked about that stupid pie so many times while we were in Ishval, I honestly expected it wouldn't live up to the hype." 

"It does," Ed and Al chorused. 

"It does," Roy admitted. "She gave me the recipe when I was transferred to East City, and made me a pie for the train." 

"Did you eat the whole thing?" Ed asked, his eyes gleaming. 

Roy cleared his throat, because he very nearly had. "Riza had some." 

Ed grinned like he knew what Roy hadn't said – he probably did – while Al shook his head. "You two deserve each other," he muttered. 

Ed turned to Al with raised eyebrows. "And how _is_ May, little brother, mine?" 

Al let out a surprised cough, his cheeks dusting with pink. "May? She's– May's...fine. She's doing just fine, last I heard from her. Why?" 

Ed just stared at him, chin braced in the palm of one hand. 

Well, Roy hadn't known about _this_ , though it did explain how gloomy Al had sounded for the two months following Princess May's return to Xing, once they no longer needed her to hold their hands in lab two. Why he'd cheered up was still a bit of a mystery, but Roy assumed the princess had managed to re-establish communication around then. 

Al cleared his throat, then insisted, "You should tell us about whatever weird alchemy you discovered in the west." 

"You're changing the subject," Ed pointed out. "And maybe I'd rather hear about the alkahestry you learnt from _May_."

Al cast a look towards Roy, a silent plea for assistance, and he covered a smile before pointing out, "I don't think you're staying long enough for a proper emersion in the fundamentals of alkahestry. And I, too, am interested in the alchemy of our neighbours." 

"Traitor," Ed complained. 

But Al had perked up. "No, that's a good point. You're gonna have to stay put for about a month for a proper foundation in alkahestry, so you'll just have to plan your next visit to be longer." 

Ed stared between them for a moment, before snorting and rubbing at his face. "Fucking shit, you two are conspirators, aren't you? First Roy's bribing me with pie and sex, and now Al's putting alkahestry on the pile? You both suck." 

"We missed you," Al returned flatly, and Ed winced. "You've been gone for _four years_ , Edward. Remember how it felt when Dad–?"

"Don't you _dare_ –" Ed hissed, narrowing his eyes at his brother. 

Al levelled a hard stare on him. "How much like him are you intending to become?" 

Ed shoved away from the table and took two quick steps away, towards the kitchen door, before stopping just before Roy started to remind him that the traps were active. He stood there for a long moment, back straight and shoulders tense, before bowing forward and wrapping his arms around himself. 

Al must have anticipated him, because he was out of his seat and stepping up to Ed's side before he could finish collapsing, wrapping his brother in a hug and whispering something too quiet for Roy to catch. 

Rather than trying to interject himself in what was clearly a family discussion, Roy turned to watch the oven. And he couldn't even pretend to be hurt at not being included; Ed and Al had been the most important people in each other's lives since long before he'd met them, and Roy would never dream of trying to get between them. 

That said, it was extremely gratifying that, instead of returning to his chair, Ed sat himself in Roy's lap. Which was nothing like holding Elicia – who was the only person he had any experience with trying this particular position – because Ed was both heavier and taller, but he'd braced his automail leg against the floor, taking a portion of his weight, and wrapping his arm around the warm body pressing against him was completely natural. It also felt natural to press a kiss against Ed's jaw and ask, "Okay?" 

Ed nodded and fingers threaded through Roy's hair. "When's the pie going to be done?" he asked hopefully. 

Al snorted, but left it for Roy to drily reply, "Hours." 

"Could you–?" Ed snapped his fingers and offered Roy a grin that didn't look nearly as strained as Roy had half expected it to look. 

Roy raised an eyebrow at him. "Not if you want it edible." Because he'd learnt a long time ago that no amount of flame alchemy could speed up the cooking process. Excellent for turning possible food into charcoal, not so much for actually cooking it. 

"How not edible?" Ed asked, looking like he couldn't help himself, and Al let out a quite groan. 

Roy didn't have his gloves, but the hob had a tiny flame under the safety cover that was intended to stay lit, and it had been fine when he'd put in the pie, so he clapped his hands together, activated his familiar array, and turned one of the leftover apples – which had rolled down the worktop towards the sink and he'd been too lazy to retrieve – into charcoal, being extremely careful to avoid damaging the worktop so much that a bit of scrubbing wouldn't fix it. 

Al cleared his throat. "Right." 

"You can't moderate the heat?" Ed asked. 

Roy raised both eyebrows at him. 

Ed grimaced. "Oh. Yeah, I guess a direct flame is a direct flame, no matter how you slice it. Or burn it." 

"Just stop," Al ordered. 

"Blast it?" Ed suggested. 

Al sighed. "Sir, a pick-up line?" 

Ed covered Roy's mouth to pre-empt the handful of fire-based pick-up lines he had in his repertoire – which was too bad, really, and he was probably far too entertained by Al turning his pick-up lines into a form of punishment for Ed – and said, "So, Aerugonian alchemy isn't too different from ours." Al and Roy both shot him interested looks, and Ed grinned between them. "From what I can gather, they learnt it from a couple of Amestrisan alchemists who'd defected back in 1600-something. It's got a much stronger water-focus than we do, with the sea access and kind of way too many lakes and rivers. Not much ice-based alchemy, weirdly, more moving the water around, kinda like we do with earth." 

He waved a careless hand around and let out a vaguely irritated huff. "There was this one pompous fuck I ran into, called himself the only _true_ Aerugonian alchemist. Swore he could use the motions of the tide to power his alchemy, same way the Xingans use that whatever-the-fuck May and Ling were blathering on about." 

"Lung Mei," Al offered. "The Dragon's Pulse." 

"That bullshit, yeah," Ed agreed, and Al rolled his eyes, clearly far too used to his brother to take insult. "Anyway, no real way to verify either way, but he couldn't do any crazy shit like transmute from a distance, and he seemed to think the idea of healing alchemy was a kid's prank or whatever, so I call bullshit. Because, seriously? You say you're using the motion of water to power your alchemy, but you can figure out blood flow? Bull. Shit." 

Roy kissed the palm still covering his mouth, and when Ed drew it away with a vaguely confused smile, he asked, "And how many times did he attempt to kill you?" 

"Ha!" Ed said, probably a little too loud, and Al immediately shushed him. He flapped a hand at Al, but did quiet his voice when he continued, "I had _backup_. Also, he'd been pissing a lot of people off, so they sort of started calling him on his shit and I made my escape." He pointed between them, a serious look on his face. "Do _not_ use knives to fight alchemists who can whip water around. Just a tip." And then he flashed a smirk at Roy. " _You_ should just–"

"Be quiet, Edward," Roy interrupted, rolling his eyes. 

Ed grinned and leant in to kiss him, then slipped off his lap. "Paper? Writing implement? Tell me I have to go into the study–"

" _Brother_ ," Al complained. 

"There's paper in the dining room," Roy offered. "On the sideboard just to the right, when you walk in. And there should be pens in the drawer." 

"What if there aren't?" Ed asked as he started for the dining room. 

"Then I'll find one upstairs; let Orlov sleep." 

Ed huffed, but he came back quickly enough to suggest he'd found everything he'd needed in the dining room. He dropped the paper and two pens onto the table, then dropped back into his chair and started sketching unfamiliar arrays, talking about them the whole time. As he explained parts, Roy realised he could relate the water arrays back to some of the water-based Amestrisan arrays he'd seen over the years, and he found comprehension on Al's face, too, when he looked up at him. 

While Al and Roy looked over the arrays Ed had deemed 'safe to practise indoors', the former alchemist got a couple of bowls, filled them with water, and brought them back over to the table. 

And then, somehow, Roy found himself learning Aerugonian water alchemy. 

Of course, because he was an Elric, Al figured out how to modify one of the arrays to allow for temperature change, and he and Ed started a hissed argument while Roy got up to check the pie and, finding it ready, pull it out of the oven. Which then required he catch Ed when he went after the treat before it could cool off. 

"Give it ten minutes, or you'll burn your tongue and not be able to taste it," Roy insisted, because he suspected that was a better deterrent than 'you'll burn your fingers,' which was usually what Gracia and he used on Elicia. 

Ed huffed, but obediently returned to the table, stealing back the array Al had modified and stacking it with the rest of the paper he'd used, then dropping that to the floor. Which rather defeated the purpose of stacking them together, Roy thought, but he already knew that Ed existed in a constant state of vaguely-organised chaos. 

"Cretan alchemy," he said, "is freaking _weird_. I swear to fuck, someone must have had an issue with straight lines, because you get triangles, sure, but everything is just sort of...swirly." 

"Swirly," Roy repeated flatly, while Al blinked a few times, looking like he wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or not. 

Ed gave a vigorous nod, then started sketching out an array that...included swirls. 

"...the fuck?" Al said, leaning forward over the table as Ed started adding what looked to be a curved corner, which just... 

"It's not even staying within the boundaries of the circle," Roy couldn't help but complain, because one of the curved corners had gone over the line of the outer circle. 

"We know a couple of arrays that do that," Al admitted, and Roy raised an eyebrow at him, mostly so he didn't have to look at the train wreck Ed was drawing. "But I know what you're saying; all the arrays I know, it's a smaller circle or the points of a triangle that are escaping, to bleed off some of the excess power. But this..." 

"I'm starting to understand why Pedro was so fucking amused the first time he showed me a Cretan array," Ed commented as he sat back, grinning down at the array he'd sketched. Then he looked towards the cooling pie. "Can I have some now?" 

Roy shook his head. "Explain this nonsense." 

Ed rolled his eyes and traced the curve of one of the swirls with the butt of his pen. "Cretan alchemy was built on the idea of recycling energy, creating a powerful transmutation with less energy expended." He shrugged. "From my observations, in practise, the energy exchange is about the same for Amestrisan alchemy, but I supposed that might not have held true when they first started developing it. 

"Whatever. So, the swirls are supposed to sort of trap energy, keep it going in the same spot for a longer period. The curved edges are to ease the passage of the energy, keep it from getting stuck in any corners. In concept, an interesting idea, but since Amestrisan alchemy uses corners to gather and dispel energy, not as pathways like the Cretans seem to think, it just ends up looking silly." 

"Silly, yes," Al agreed. "I can definitely see the silly. What is this supposed to do?" 

"Heal cuts," Ed offered as he got up, clearly intent on the pie. 

"They have healing alchemy?" Al hissed before snatching up the array to stare at it. 

Roy let him have it, mostly because he felt like he needed to keep an eye on Ed around the pie. 

Once three slices had been cut and served onto the plates Ed had got out with only a little grumbling, Roy slipped the remainder of the pie into the cooling oven to keep it warm, then returned to the table with his own slice, only to find Al making irritated noises over the Cretan array, while Ed watched him with a wide grin and a full mouth. 

" _Swirls_ ," Al complained before sliding the array across to Roy. "You try." 

Roy took the array and looked it over as Al took an angry bite of pie. He could sort of see why Al was so irritated; one of the swirls went nowhere, and the array just _looked_ unbalanced. 

Ed had said it was for healing cuts, and while Roy probably knew more medical arrays than Al – he was keeping an eye on the labs and got copies of every completed array they came up with, as well as the basic research attached, so he could test it himself – everything they were working with was Xingan-based, which used the same sharp points and straight lines as Amestrisan alchemy. 

Still, most healing alchemy, in Roy's experience, was useless unless there was something to be healed, so he slid his thumb along the edge of the paper, wincing at the papercut – intentional papercuts always seemed _more_ painful than unintentional ones, somehow – then held his finger over the array and tried to activate it. 

Nothing. 

He glared at it for a moment, then picked up the paper and waved it at Ed. "We may need a demonstration." 

Ed just sort of stared at him, looking vaguely wide-eyed, while Al sighed and said, "I suppose I can take a trip over to Creta, see if I can't find someone to walk me through a couple arrays, then come back and show you, sir?" 

"Please don't," Ed got out, voice strained. "You look enough like me, they might shoot you." 

Roy closed his eyes – that sounded like the sort of horror-story international incident he'd been expecting to hear about sooner – while Al complained, " _Brother_. What did you _do_?"

"There was a military prick with his head shoved up his arse. We had words," Ed returned flippantly. 

Somehow, Roy managed to keep from groaning. He also added it to his mental to-do list that he needed to somehow smooth things over with the Cretan military once they had a working treaty with them. (Which was probably getting ahead of himself, but this was _Ed_ ; planning the damage control ahead of his next misdeed was something of an ingrained habit.) 

Then Ed sighed and took the array from Roy, bringing him to open his eyes. "You don't have to go to Creta," he muttered as he sat the paper on the table. "Hands," he requested, and Roy immediately held them out. 

"Brother," Al said uncertainly, while Ed took Roy's hands and twisted his left one to find the papercut, "you can't–"

"I gave up my Gate," Ed said flatly. And then he clapped Roy's hands together. 

The array on the paper flashed through Roy's mind, even as green energy – an unfamiliar colour – lit up their joined hands. The energy build up felt the same, but the way it was drawn through him was far from straightforward, took a sort of meandering path that should have made it grow slower, but somehow didn't. "Oh," he thought he heard himself say, just before the growing energy sparked across his papercut and closed it, then died out. 

Al leant over the table, his eyes wide and bright, and hissed, "Did you just do alchemy using the _general's_ Gate?" 

Ed flashed him a grin that only looked a little strained. "Yup." 

"It's a little like he leans over and takes the wheel of the car from you," Roy commented, and Ed frowned at him. He shrugged. "It is. I still have control over whether you've got the gas to do what you want, but you're the one directing the car." 

"I can't drive," Ed deadpanned. 

Al covered his face and started letting out muffled laughter. 

Roy raised an eyebrow at his lover. "That might explain how many times we've had to repair buildings and streets after you went through." 

" _Hey_! I fixed those!" 

"Some of them," Roy agreed, nodding. "Usually with your particular brand of–"

"Cool?" 

"Not _quite_ what I was going for." 

"Tasteless," Al offered. 

"You suck," Ed insisted, pointing at his brother. "I'll have you know I have _excellent_ artistic aesthetic." 

Al let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like 'bullshit', then said, "I think I was too distracted to consider that a demonstration." And then he held his hands out to Ed. 

Ed stared at him for a moment, before commenting, "It helps if there's actually something to heal." 

Al picked up and transmuted his fork into a knife to cut himself with, while Roy frowned at Ed; was he actually nervous about trying this with his brother? He'd been nervous with Roy, too, originally, but since he'd said his ability was based on trust... 

Roy could understand Ed thinking _he_ might not trust him enough, but he couldn't imagine a world in which Al didn't wholly trust Ed. Be annoyed or angry with him, certainly, but not trusting him? 

Al held his hands back out, a line of blood marring his right thumb. "Well?" he challenged, and Roy realised he'd caught Ed's discomfort too, and was responding by pushing him. 

Ed reached out, stopped just shy of touching Al for a beat, then took a deep breath and quickly clapped Al's hands together. 

The reaction was pretty much instantaneous – either it was easier for Ed to use Al's alchemy, or Roy was right about it only _seeming_ to take longer – green light blazing out around their hands before focussing on the cut Al had made, then dying away. 

And then Al got up and grabbed Ed in a hug, which he seemed all-too-willing to return. 

When Al sat back down, they were both smiling, looking far better for that little display, and Roy had to hide his own smile by taking a bite of what was left of his pie. 

"So," Al said, looking at Roy, "is the flow of energy weird, or was that Brother's driving?" 

Ed let out a disgruntled noise. 

Roy snorted a shook his head. "Part of the array. It sort of...meanders?" 

Al nodded. "That, yeah. It's weird, but I guess it makes sense with the spirals?" 

"If you can call any part of this alchemy 'sensible'," Roy agreed, and Al coughed a laugh into his hand. 

"You two wanna see swirls?" Ed said in a way that sounded vaguely threatening as he picked his pen back up and pushed the healing array off the table towards the rest of his pile, clearing the pile of unused paper. And then he started drawing again. 

Roy glanced up at Al, and he felt better to find his trepidation mirrored in the blond's face. "Coffee?" he suggested a bit helplessly, and Al started nodding, while Ed laughed at both of them. 

Yeah, it was definitely time for coffee. 

-0-

By the time the rest of the household had got up, they'd gone through all of Ed's arrays and Roy and Al had finally given in and were trying to give Ed a crash course in Xingan alkahestry. Which he seemed to be having about as much trouble with as every other Amestrisan alchemist, and they were trying to teach him the simplified version that Al and Princess May had spent a year developing. 

Of course, the fact that Ed couldn't actually _practise_ the alchemy probably wasn't helping matters; he'd tried, but Roy and Al were both already familiar with the process, so they naturally supplied the information Ed was missing, but it didn't seem to translate to him the same way him using them to activate an array left them with his knowledge. Which meant he needed to find an alchemist who had never used this alchemy, and who trusted him enough to let him use their connection to the Gate, if he wanted to work out the kinks in a practical manner. 

Without that, they were left with trying to explain the differences with words and sketching it on what was left of the paper Ed had brought from the dining room. (And Al trying to explain the Dragon's Pulse was probably not helping, in all honestly.) 

The appearance of the Drachmans probably helped the most, because Roy had to get up to make them all food, and Ed was always soothed by food. It also gave him the opportunity to attempt bullying the Drachmans into giving him their slices of pie; Orlov took great pleasure in eating his in Ed's face, and Anastasia was clearly immune to his pathetic face, but Natalia apparently decided she didn't like it, so Ed got to eat pretty much her entire slice. (Roy was fairly certain he was asking her how she couldn't like apple pie between bites, but it was hard to tell when he was speaking in Drachman with a full mouth.) 

Once everyone had eaten and got dressed for the day, they headed out. The others all looked a little uncertain about not taking the car, but the brothers, at least, both relaxed when Havoc joined them at the end of the block, and Breda found them partway down the next block. (And this sort of situation was the entire reason, Roy knew, that his team had found places near his. So that when he needed a guard detail, or he needed some extra firepower because his house was under attack, they would be there. It was also the reason that Falman and Fuery _didn't_ live nearby, because neither of their strengths were really good for being in the field, though he knew they could manage, but they were excellent in support positions, so long as the action didn't interfere, which meant they were best in another neighbourhood.) 

Falman and Fuery were already in when the rest of them made it to the office, Fuery keeping on top of getting what information he could via the phone and radios, while Falman was keeping track of incoming information on the maps of the northern and central areas that had been spread out over the desks. 

Havoc dropped his bag in his chair, took a long look over the maps, then left to gather what intelligence he could from other people in Command, while Breda caught Falman and had him fill him in on everything they knew so far. 

Roy led the rest of the group into his office, stepping forward to close the blinds right off, then moving to hang up his coat. "I need to go meet with the Führer," he said, because Grumman had requested he stop by as soon as he got in to, Roy could only assume, update the brass fully on the situation, and start everyone collecting the same information that he was nearly certain his team was already well on top of. "I doubt your attendance will be an issue, but I expect you'll find it less tedious to remain down here." 

Anastasia stepped forward and motioned between herself and Natalia. "We would help. It is our lives that are in danger, and it is not in us to sit back and let others stand in for us, _no matter what Batya says_ ," she finished, turning a glare on Ed. 

Ed held up his hands. "Hey, I know better than to get between you and a brawl." 

Anastasia sniffed, while Natalia and Al let out very similar sounds of resignation. 

Roy coughed to help himself suppress a smile. "I do appreciate you wanting to assist," he offered, "but I built this team to function without any outside assistance, even my own." The princesses traded frowns, while Ed and Al's mouths thinned; they, at least, knew exactly how effective his team became in an emergency, even when spread out across the country. "That said, you're welcome to make an offer; Captain Fuery might appreciate an extra pair of ears on the radio, and Colonel Hawkeye might appreciate some help sorting through the piles of paperwork that have been building up." 

"But not _signing_ any of it," Ed cut in, his eyes sparkling. "That's still your job, you lazy bastard." 

Roy flashed him a smirk. "I know you can forge my signature, Edward." 

Ed shot Al a vaguely panicked look, but Al just sighed and said, "I _told_ you he'd find out." 

"Speaking of..." Roy murmured, turning to find the lab reports he hadn't been able to get to before they'd left for Briggs, and completely unsurprised to find they'd bred since. 

"I'm not doing your fucking work for you, you–" Ed started, only to shut up when he saw what Roy was holding out. "Oh. Give me those." 

"Are those the alchemy lab reports?" Al asked, looking interested as he sidled up next to Ed, who made a point of trying to keep them out of Al's sight while also still being able to read them himself. " _Brother_!"

"Or," Roy added to the princesses, "you can watch what is certain to turn into an entertaining fight over classified military documents." Which earned him knowing grins from both of them. 

" _Sir_ ," Riza said as she stepped into the office with Francine, her expression disapproving. 

Roy snorted. "Alchemy, Colonel; no one's going to care if the Elric brothers get a look at those." 

Riza sighed, but the fact that she kept her gun holstered said she didn't have an argument for that. "I assume you'll be with the Führer all morning?" 

Roy somehow kept from sighing himself as he walked back around his desk to grab a pad of paper and pen. "Likely. I'd prefer Anya and Natalia remain within the office, but they're welcome to assist in the team's efforts." He glanced at her and Riza gave a minute nod; she'd find things to keep the princesses busy with. He stepped back around his desk with his writing things. "Edward!" 

Ed and Al both looked over at him from over the stack of reports, which Ed had split and given half of to Al. "Leaving?" the elder guessed. 

Roy inclined his head. "Try not to destroy anything while I'm gone." 

Ed snorted as he turned back to his reports. "No promises." 

Roy sighed. "Ladies," he offered to the women, then stepped out and caught Breda and Falman to give him a brief update: They'd found the vehicle Vickers had stolen about an hour ago, just north of the north-central area border, which meant he was headed this way. The vehicle had been stashed inside a barn, and the family who owned the barn had been murdered in their beds. The family was reported to only own a horse-drawn cart, and both the cart and two horses were missing, but there were a few small towns in the region, and some people had motorised vehicles. They were trying to find out if any had gone missing so far, but were working with the assumption that he was travelling by cart until proven otherwise. 

"If we get a sighting, interrupt us," Roy ordered, and both men gave sharp nods. "Good. I should be back by lunch. If Havoc gets back and wants to go out, have him pick something up. Otherwise, we'll have the cafeteria send something up." 

"Sir." 

"And if either of the princesses want to leave the office, they're to be accompanied by two people and either Al or myself. For anything." 

"Do they know that?" Breda asked with a frown. 

"They do." 

He nodded. "I'll make sure Kain and Jean know, then." Then he snorted. "Least it'll be easier to pull Al away from those reports than the boss." 

"You may be underestimating how alike they are," Roy warned, and Breda flashed him a knowing grin. He shook his head and left the management of their guests and hunting down every possible scrap of information in the capable hands of his team. 

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple people asked about Blenheim, and I never actually got his reasons into the fic, though it's outlined in my notes, so... He's got two younger sisters with families of their own, and he spoils his nieces and nephews something awful. Vickers knew he'd never make it down to Central undetected on his own, so he told Blenheim he would kill his family if he didn't cooperate. And Blenheim, who knows more about Vickers than any of the rest of us, 100% believed him and knew protective custody wouldn't stop Vickers, so he came along.  
> Blenheim is actually not a bad guy, really, he just made some bad life choices in keeping quiet about how potentially unstable his boss is, and now he's paying for it. (Ho boy, does he ever pay for it.)
> 
> Eh, this chapter is a little shorter than the rest, but it was an excellent ending point. :P
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as they have the rest of the fic! I'll see this fandom again once my NaNo piece is ready for posting! ;)

As much as it infuriated Roy to admit it, Vickers was exceptional at staying undetected.

It was well after lunch before they found the stolen cart, which had been left parked down a back alley in Altheim. He must have released the horses, because they didn't manage to find either of them, and the best guess was that they'd either run past the search line, or blended in with one of the herds the teams had reported. 

The search line kept moving south into Central, but they never managed to spot him. And while Vickers wasn't from Central City, he was familiar enough with it that they could assume he'd been able to go to ground relatively easily. They'd been running strict checks at all the gates since that morning, hoping to spot him before he could get into Command, but Roy, his team, and the brass all agreed that, most likely, Vickers and Blenheim would wait until the princesses were outside of Command before attacking. 

"You have a couple options," Grumman offered Anastasia and Natalia when he came by Roy's office near the end of the day. "We have officer quarters on base that you're welcome to until we can flush Vickers out of his hiding place, or we can send a guard detail with you back to your lodgings for the evening." 

Anastasia straightened in her seat next to Fuery at his radio equipment. "I will not continue to huddle in fear of this man, and I cannot continue to rely on those of Amestris who I know not their faces," she said coldly, before glancing at Natalia, who gave a determined nod. Anastasia looked back at Grumman. "I already know I can trust General Mustang – he has proven such against this Vickers once already – and I have knowledge of those he would say he trusts; I will accept what security he suggests, no other." 

Grumman turned to Roy, while one of the members of the brass who had tagged along with the Führer let out a vaguely disbelieving sound. There was a sort of fond approval in Grumman's eyes, and Roy caught himself blinking, admittedly uncertain how to react to that from his military mentor. "It seems you're in charge, General," Grumman said, humour in his voice. 

Roy inclined his head. "So it seems, sir," he agreed, before casting a glance over his team – Havoc and Breda were playing cards with Orlov and Al, while Ed watched and acted as translator and heckler; Riza, Francine, Natalia, and Falman had their heads together over a map of Drachma and a notepad covered in scribbles; and Fuery and Anastasia had the scattered pieces of a radio around them, while a garble of voices came from the headphones around both their necks – then shooting his best confident smirk at the Führer and saying, "I have all the people necessary right here, sir." 

"Mustang," Lieutenant General Peabody interrupted, tone disapproving, "be serious, for once. While it's true your team is loyal to a fault, you can't honestly expect this motley crew of–"

"Motley?" Ed repeated sharply, very likely taking note of the way all of Roy's team tensed; they were used to having their abilities questioned, given Roy's promotion to general had not be a popular one among the brass, but most people weren't so crass as to actually bring it up to their faces. "Did you just–"

"Brother," Al hissed. 

"That fucker just–" Ed started, with his usual disregard for decorum, and Peabody absolutely deserved it, but this was hardly the time for Ed to start a one-man war against the members of the military who didn't want Roy as the next Führer. 

So Roy snapped, " _Fullmetal_! Stand down!" 

Ed turned to glare at him. "Not my fucking _title_ any more, bastard," he snarled. 

Roy shot him a frown, then turned to Peabody, who was staring at Ed like he wasn't quite certain what to do with the knowledge that he was the former People's Alchemist. Because Ed hadn't actually been introduced to the brass when Anastasia and Natalia were, and not everyone recognised the former Fullmetal Alchemist on sight. "Lieutenant General," Roy said flatly, and Peabody stiffened, "your disapproval of my team is noted. Please get out of my office before I suggest a demonstration of exactly how capable they are is in order." 

Peabody and Major General Colt both made their escape, leaving behind Grumman and Second Lieutenant Days, Grumman's secretary. 

Grumman cleared his throat. "Do try to avoid any demonstrations, General," he suggested, before looking over at Ed. "Major Elric–"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Ed muttered. 

" _Edward_ ," Al stressed, while Breda and Havoc both muffled snickers. 

Grumman's mouth twitched. "Perhaps a little more decorum, Major." 

Ed looked straight at Grumman and flatly returned, "I didn't throw a knife at him." 

Grumman coughed and raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he allowed, "I suppose that's as much of an improvement as one can honestly expect of you." 

Roy had to look away, because Ed looked like he wasn't sure if he should be insulted or pleased by that. "If that's all, sir?" he asked Grumman in a voice he forced to remain even. 

Grumman let out a hum, then nodded. "I believe so." Then he turned a hard stare on Roy, and he felt himself stiffening in response. "Don't fuck up, Mustang." 

"No, sir," Roy returned with a salute. 

Grumman nodded to him, inclined his head towards the two princesses, then stepped lightly from the room, Days following without a word. (Which wasn't unusual for her, in Roy's experience.) 

"I think," Anastasia said into the silence, "he does, what is your phrase? He grows on you?" 

"Like a _fungus_ ," Ed muttered, then squawked as Al shoved him out of his chair. " _Al_!"

Roy snapped his fingers. He wasn't wearing his gloves, but it still brought every Amestrisan in the room to look at him with varying levels of trepidation. "Clean up," he ordered, and his team got to it. "Captain," he added, and Fuery looked up, his expression serious, "please remain here until we ring through with the all clear." 

"Do you want me to move down to the switchboard, sir?" 

Roy gave that a moment's thought, then nodded; Fuery could easily have calls routed around the switchboard – his ability to do so was what had originally caught Roy's eye back in East Command – but it was always easier to keep on top of things when you were in the middle of the action. 

"Major," Roy said, turning to Falman, who straightened and saluted. "I assume you've sufficiently picked the brains of our guests for all the information on Drachma that you can feasibly gather?" he asked drily. 

Natalia covered a grin, while Francine snorted. 

Falman cleared his throat. "I believe so, sir." 

"Good. Type up your report tonight and have it on the Führer's desk in the morning." 

"Yes, sir," Falman agreed with a salute. 

Roy stepped into his office and made sure the chaos of his desk was at its most organised. 

"How often does that happen?" Ed asked from the doorway. 

Roy glanced up at him, honestly not quite certain what he was referring to. "How often does what happen?" 

"Arseholes insulting them," Ed clarified, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the main office. 

Roy sighed. "I'm not popular, Ed, but there is a hierarchy that my opponents are required to observe." 

"So they're easy targets." 

"They're easy targets," Roy agreed quietly, "and most people aren't quite so crass as to air their insults in hearing range, but that does make it easier for me to step in." He closed his eyes. "I wish I could do so more often." 

He didn't realise Ed had moved until, from just behind him, he heard the blond mutter, "Idiot," before wrapping his arms around Roy from behind. 

"Yes," Roy admitted, "but you wouldn't like me if I didn't care." 

"I don't like you even when you _do_ care," Ed insisted. 

Roy smiled and turned around in Ed's hold, which the blond allowed with a scowl. "Liar," he murmured before brushing a kiss against Ed's mouth. And then, "Whatever happened to distracting Riza for the day?" 

Gold eyes gleamed. "Pervert." 

"You're the one who started it," Roy pointed out, barely stopped himself from using Ed's title, if only because they both needed to be at their most alert when they left the building. "There I was, oh-so-innocently–"

"Liar," Ed insisted with a quiet laugh. "You haven't done an innocent thing in your _life_."

Roy considered that for a moment, then sighed. "Ah, the danger of being ambitious." 

"And a pervert," Ed insisted. 

Someone knocked on the doorframe and they both looked over to find Riza standing there, her expression flat. "We're ready to go, if you two are done." 

Roy cleared his throat while Ed muffled an amused noise against his jacket. "Noted, Colonel." 

She nodded and stepped out of the open doorway. 

"Distracting her next time," Ed said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Got it." 

Roy snorted and leant in to brush a quick kiss over his lips, which ended up being a fair bit less quick when Ed decided he wasn't going to be passive. "Gun," Roy finally managed to say, and Ed laughed. 

"Shooting," he agreed as he let go and stepped back, brushing his hands down Roy's chest, as though helping to smooth away any wrinkles. 

Of course, because his team lived to torment Roy, when he and Ed stepped out into the front office, Havoc called, "Getting a bit hot and heavy back there, Boss, Chief?" 

Ed snorted, while Roy turned an interested look on Havoc. "What was that, Lieutenant Colonel? It sounded a little bit like you were volunteering to help reorganise the file room next week." 

Havoc grimaced. "Keeping my mouth shut, sir." 

Riza slid a fresh clip into place in her favourite gun and said, "Good plan." As she slipped the weapon away and Havoc gulped, she turned to Roy. "Are we ready?" 

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Weapons check?" 

"Sir!" Riza, Breda, and Havoc all called in the affirmative, while Francine gave a hard nod. 

When Roy looked towards the Drachmans, he found someone had supplied Anastasia and Natalia with guns, which they both held with an obvious air of familiarity. Orlov had also been supplied with a firearm, but it was slung over his shoulder, like he didn't intend for it to be the first weapon to his hands. 

Ed, he knew, was armed with his knives and martial arts, and Al had alchemy; they were as prepared as they were going to be. 

"Let's head out," he ordered, and motioning Al forward. "Can you cover the rear?" he requested once he'd reached him. 

Al nodded. "Yeah. My reaction to gunshots is always to form a wall; is that okay?" 

"That should work fine," Roy agreed. "Focus on protecting Anya and Natalia and try to leave at least the Colonel a clear line-of-sight to wherever the shots were fired from, if at all possible." 

Al looked back over where their group was forming up – the Drachmans and Ed between the four military members – then nodded. "I should be able to manage something." 

"Good. Thank you, Alphonse." 

Al flashed him a smile, and Roy suspected he could only see the minute signs of strain because he knew him and Ed so well. "You know me," he said, tone too-cheerful, "always getting dragged into Brother's messes and having to keep him safe." 

Roy patted his shoulder. "At least this one isn't Edward's fault," he pointed out. 

Al's smile eased slightly. "Miracles _do_ happen," he quipped, before moving to take his place at the back of the group. 

Roy snorted and stepped forward to lead everyone out. Most people had already left, their group having stayed a bit later than Roy and his team were used to, in hopes of Vickers getting careless and being caught, so it didn't take them long to make it through the building, across the parade grounds, and down to the street. 

They made it about three blocks before that sixth sense Roy had developed in Ishval warned him about danger half a second before he heard the gunshot. 

He snapped, wasn't completely certain which direction the shot had come from, other than above, so he lit the air above their heads on fire, heard the sound of a bullet exploding just as the ground rose up and curled over the party from behind, protecting everyone from shrapnel. 

"Hawkeye! Havoc!" he shouted. 

Riza pointed in the direction the shot had come from, and Roy snapped again, arcing a flame up towards that roof, seeking out that particular combination of elements that meant a living being, while Havoc ran towards the nearest roof access. 

"Flame!" Riza snapped, just before firing a shot, and Roy chased it with an offshoot of fire. 

Someone let out a shout of pain just before falling off the building, and Roy thought he heard Ed shout, "Al!" 

The awning over a nearby shop stretched out and caught the falling body, depositing it lightly into the pavement just as another shot rang out from above. 

Roy snapped again, raised his arm to protect his face from the bullet shards – that one had been aimed at him – while he heard Riza get off two more shots, too quick for him to redirect his alchemy after it. 

Another shot from above, followed almost immediately by Havoc shouting, "Got 'im!" 

Roy held still for one long heartbeat, but no more shots rang out, and he let out a slow breath. "Check on our guests," he ordered Riza, since she was right next to him, then started towards the body that Al had caught, who was letting out pathetic whimpering sounds and clutching their knee. Without the firefight going on, he recognised Gordon Blenheim, Vickers' adjunct; the man was going to have to do some seriously fast talking to get out of the boiling water he'd just fallen into. 

Just before he reached Blenheim, he heard Ed shout, " _ **Roy**_!" A warning, laced with terror _for Roy_.

He jerked his head up to find Vickers just stepping out of the alley to his left, a gun pointed at Roy's head and a mad little smile on his face. 

Roy snapped and stepped quickly out of the direct path of the gun, just before he heard the hammer of the gun slam home. 

The bullet grazed his temple, blooming pain, as Vickers caught fire, hot enough the heat blasted in a wave over Roy; he wouldn't be surprised to find that some of his hair had sizzled away, it wouldn't be the first time. 

What was left of Vickers crumpled to the pavement, the familiar taste of burnt flesh like ash on his tongue. Off to the side, Blenheim let out a sound that might have been a gag, if it hadn't been accompanied by a sob, and Roy shot him a disgusted look. 

"Roy!" he heard, and turned to find Ed running up to him, his expression caught somewhere between terror and relief. 

Roy found himself reaching out a hand, drawing Ed into a hug when he took it and pressing his face into Ed's shoulder, breathing in the scent of machine oil and sweat and _Ed_. So far removed from the memories burnt flesh evoked, it was an honest relief. 

"You idiot," Ed whispered, gripping Roy tight enough he thought it should probably hurt. And then, clearly only just seeing the blood, Ed snapped, "Fuck! Let me see your head!" 

"It's fine," Roy muttered, but he obediently turned his head so Ed could get a good look, wincing when he touched the cut. 

"Idiot," Ed said again, before leaning up and carefully kissing Roy's temple just in front of the wound. "Go back and get Al to fix it. Now." 

Roy sighed, but pulled away to do so, motioning towards the whimpering man a couple feet away. "Blenheim," he explained. "He should only have minor wounds." 

"I'll fix that if he doesn't shut the fuck up," Ed snarled, and the whimpering became notably muffled. 

Roy shook his head, immediately regretted it, and decided he didn't have the necessary cognitive function to police his lover's bad mood right then, so it was best if he let Al heal him. 

(What did they do with themselves before they'd figured out healing alchemy?) 

Al was quick about healing him, while Riza went to keep Ed from torturing Blenheim. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Havoc went after the other one, after he made double certain the roofs were otherwise clear," Al commented as he ended the alchemy. "But I thought there were only two?" 

Roy gingerly prodded the wound, found it a little tender, but closed. "There was always a possibility that Vickers would pick up an extra couple people in Central," he pointed out, though it was possible Al had been distracted by alchemy reports when that idea was being tossed around. "I'm just glad it was only _one_ extra." 

"Seconded," Al agreed tiredly, before letting out a surprised noise and catching Roy's right arm. 

Roy couldn't quite stop a hiss at a spark of pain, and he twisted his arm to find the blood spreading through the edge of his glove that had probably given the wound away. "Bullet shrapnel," he muttered, before clapping his hands together and using alchemy to cut off his sleeves, revealing a half-dozen pinpricks of blood. He sighed; better his arm than his face, he supposed. 

"Do you want me to heal it?" Al asked, sounded rather like he already knew the answer. 

The answer, of course, should have been no, because plenty of soldiers died from shrapnel that hadn't been removed, so he _should_ go to hospital and let them get the pieces out. But either that bullet had made him crazy, or Ed was rubbing off on him, because what he ended up saying was, "Do you have something we can turn into a magnet?" 

"Brother's leg?" was Al's best suggestion. 

Someone snorted and Roy looked over to find Anastasia. "This will work?" she guessed, holding out her borrowed gun. 

"Ah, yes," Roy agreed, accepting it and automatically dropping the clip into one hand, then clearing the chamber. 

"I do not think this is medically sound," Anastasia pointed out as Roy slipped the bullets away in the pocket of his coat. 

"Not even a little," he admitted, before clapping and generating a magnetic field around the gun. 

Al sighed and pressed his hands together. "Right. Let me know when," he directed. 

Roy snorted, then slowly started running the gun-turned-magnet along his forearm, gritting his teeth as the tiny bullet pieces forced their way back out. 

Finally, after running the gun over his forearm again twice and getting nothing else, he nodded to Al, who wasted no time in healing him, muttering, "I swear, you're as careless with yourself as Brother is." 

Anastasia waited until Al was done and Roy had ended the magnetic field from the gun, letting the scattering of shrapnel sprinkle to the ground at their feet, before saying, "You have impressive alchemy, Roy. I think Ed had downplayed it some to lessen nerves in the Imperial Court." 

"That sounds like Brother," Al muttered. 

Roy glanced towards where Ed, Riza, and Havoc were talking with a group of MPs, one of whom looked to be wrapping Blenheim's wounds, while another was seeing to the man Havoc had taken out. "Yes," he said, glancing down at the array sewn in red across the back of his glove, "Flame Alchemy is terrifying; there's a good reason I destroyed my master's research." 

"Some alchemy," Al said grimly, "doesn't need to be passed on." 

Roy glanced up at him, knew he meant the array for creating a Philosopher's Stone, and offered a smile that hurt. "We don't always get to decide what survives us," he pointed out, before clapping and fixing his sleeves. "I should go over there and save the MPs from Edward." 

Al and Anastasia both laughed at that. 

When Roy started towards Ed, Riza, and Havoc, Anastasia fell in next to him, while – he saw when he glanced back – Al re-joined Natalia, who appeared to be conversing with Orlov and Francine while Breda stood watch; even with the threat apparently dealt with, it was clear they'd be maintaining protection details for a while yet. Which was an excellent idea, but he couldn't really complain about Anastasia not having enough guards, when Roy, himself, had sent most of them off to handle other matters. 

As they got within range, Anastasia let out a disgusted noise and covered her mouth and nose. "What is that smell?" she complained. 

Roy glanced towards Vickers' untouched remains. "Burnt flesh." He motioned to where most of the MPs were also covering their noses. "It takes some getting used to." 

She glanced at him, something sad in her eyes, before looking over where Ed, Riza, and Havoc all appeared unbothered by the smell. (Honestly, he'd have expected Ed to be making a face, but he was probably just being stubborn. Or he'd developed his own familiarity with burnt bodies during his travels, which Roy never would have wished on him.) 

The group looked up as they approached and everyone but Ed saluted. "Captain," Roy said as soon as he'd spotted the highest ranked MP, "do you have any further questions for my team, or may we finish escorting our diplomats to their lodging?" 

"No, sir! I'll have any further inquiry forwarded to your office." 

"Thank you, Captain," Roy replied, before turning to Riza. "Colonel–"

"I'll go collect the others," she suggested, before slipping past him. 

"Yes," Anastasia murmured, quiet enough that Roy suspected he was the only one to hear, "I see why it is Ed so likes her." 

"Oh, good," Ed said, making a face. "We can finally get away from General Bastard's idea of _art_."

Havoc choked out a laugh. "Tasteless, Boss." 

Ed blinked. "Actually, it's a bit acrid." 

"Oh, god," Havoc complained, covering his face. 

Roy reached out and caught Ed's arm, pulling him close enough that he could wrap him in a hug, which Ed wasted no time in returning. "I wonder if Colourway–" he started. 

Ed huffed. "I started this, didn't I?" he complained. 

"Just a bit," Havoc agreed, dropping his hand and revealing a twisted smile. "How's the head, Chief?" 

"I'll survive." 

"Fair enough," Havoc decided as the others reached them. 

"Ed," Roy murmured. 

Ed sighed and let go, then they quickly formed back up into their previous formation before continuing to Roy and his team's neighbourhood. They stopped briefly when they were flagged down by one of the local restaurant owners, who, it turned out, had been called in advance by Fuery, who had put in an order for them, so Roy wouldn't have to cook for everyone. Because he had the absolute best team. 

Havoc, Breda, Riza, and Francine took their share of the food and left, and Roy left it to the Elrics and the Drachmans to sort out what was left while he rang Fuery to give him the 'all clear', and then Gracia to tell her she could let Miss Rockbell know everyone was safe and she was welcome to return to either Riza's – Riza had suggested as much as she was getting her and Francine's food – or her hotel, whichever she was more comfortable with. 

And then he got the chance to eat. Which, well, the meal was a bit subdued, but it had been a stressful day. 

"I vote libraries tomorrow," Ed said once he'd finished eating. "Nothing bad ever happens in the libraries." 

"First Branch," Al was quick to say. 

Ed huffed. "Yeah, but, by all accounts, no one was in there when the fire started, so it doesn't count." Then he looked at Roy. "Libraries. Seriously." 

"You just want to see if they have any new books," Roy replied. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "It's been almost seven years; I certainly _hope_ you've got new books in since the last time I was in the library." 

Al let out a snort and warned the table, "We may end up having to drag Brother out." 

"I'll ask Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong to join us," Roy offered, and Al and both princesses smiled while Ed made threatening motions with one hand. Roy smiled at him until he huffed and settled down, then turned to Anastasia and Natalia. "Libraries?" 

"Yes, that is fine," Anastasia agreed. Then she shot Ed an amused look. "It would be rude, I think, to not pay visit to the building I have heard so often about." 

"Only, like, _twice_ ," Ed was quick to insist. 

"A month," Natalia added. 

"Traitor." 

Roy snorted as he stood. "Help me with the dishes, Edward," he ordered. 

Ed let out a disgruntled noise, but helped collect the dishes and take them into the kitchen all the same. When Roy shrugged off his jacket to roll back his sleeves, though, Ed dumped his dishes on the worktop with a clatter and caught his right arm, reminding Roy that his sleeve was still bloody. "Al said he'd had to heal your arm, too," Ed said, his expression tight, "but he didn't tell me it was _this_ bad." 

"It wasn't," Roy insisted, cupping Ed's cheek with his left hand. "It bled a fair bit, but it was minor." 

Ed huffed and rolled up his sleeve for him, twisting Roy's arm so he could see, then huffing again when he couldn't spot the tiny scars. "Al's right," he muttered, "we deserve each other." 

Roy leant in and brushed a kiss against Ed's mouth. "Probably," he agreed. 

Ed dropped his hold on his arm so he could catch Roy, pull him back in for a hard kiss that Roy was all too happy to return. 

And then, proving he had excellent – or terrible, it really depended who you asked – timing, Al called, "That doesn't sound like dishes!" 

"Your brother," Roy muttered against Ed's mouth. 

Ed was grinning as he pulled back. "Hawkeye's not the only one we'll have to distract?" he suggested. 

Roy snorted and shook his head. "Seems so." Then he motioned with his head towards the sink. "He's right about the dishes, though. Unless you've learnt a dish washing array?" 

Ed rolled his eyes. "You know, if you're afraid the water will make you useless–" he said as he rolled his own sleeves up. 

"You're just going to keep kicking that horse, aren't you?" Roy complained. 

Ed turned wide eyes on him. "Did you just–?!"

"Dishes, Edward," Roy reminded him, ducking past him so Ed wouldn't see the grin he couldn't quite suppress. 

Ed laughed as he stepped up next to Roy and gently elbowed him. "Bastard," he complained, far too fond, and Roy gave up on hiding his amusement entirely. 

-0-

The next morning, over breakfast, Anastasia admitted, "If there is not much other we might sightsee, it is maybe time we should consider returning to Drachma." 

Natalia muttered something about their father, and Anastasia grimaced. 

"Before Tsar Ivan sends out the search parties," Ed translated, before replying, "Just blame it on me when we get back; _technically_ , I was the one who promised to keep you from leaving the fort." 

"Hah!" Anastasia pointed at Roy. "Official offer. It would have been rude to refuse, yes? There is to be no blame." 

"I would think," Al offered politely, "that it would be a good idea for the future ruler to get a feeling for the people and the customs of their neighbours; Emperor Ling said he considers himself a far better ruler for the time he spent in Amestris." 

"Ling is a fucking special case," Ed snapped. "And he was fucked in the head before he got to us, so–"

" _Brother_."

"Edward's issues with Xing's ruler aside," Roy said flatly, ignoring the scowl his lover shot him, "his visit did allow him and his half-sister, Princess May, to form some strong bonds with Amestris, which has opened up trade routes between our nations that the Great Desert had let little reason to pursue, previously. More than our vastly different approaches to alchemy, Emperor Ling was able to point out a number of material goods that he felt were lacking on either side, during his visit, which has proven a draw for those with little to no interest in alkahestry." 

" 'Alkahestry'?" Natalia repeated. 

"What they call their version of alchemy," Al explained. "Without going into too much detail–"

"Lies," Ed muttered, quiet enough that Al could pretend he hadn't heard him, if he even had. 

"–they draw the energy for transmutations from a different source than we do, which allows for stronger healing alchemies and the ability to transmute over distances, which is largely impossible with the alchemy we use in Amestris. Or, I would assume, in Creta and Aerugo." He glanced at Ed. 

Ed shrugged. "So far as I could tell, it's all tectonic shifts. Or the tides, if you're willing to buy into that bullshit." 

Al grimaced while Roy shook his head; he trusted Ed's insistence that the Aerugonian man had been full of himself. 

"Interesting," Natalia offered slowly. "There are...chang– No. Differs?" 

"Differences," Ed corrected patiently. 

Natalia nodded. "Spasibo. Differences. That is unknown to– No, _in_ Drachma. Yes?" She looked towards Ed. 

Ed smiled and nodded. "Da." 

"We didn't know, either," Al offered, "and neither did the Xingans, from what May said. I mean, I guess those alchemists or alkahestrists who travelled between our nations in the past would have noticed, but there wasn't any scholarship on it until fairly recently. Which, well, that makes sense here in Amestris, because there was very much a 'our way is best' mentality, but I think the lack of knowledge in Xing was due more to the splits between the clans than a freeze on the information, so..." He shrugged. 

"But, yeah, differences. I can probably find you some of the articles on it in one of the libraries, if you're interested in reading more about it? The general should be able to get an extension on the materials, if you wanted to take anything back with you to Drachma, so long as Brother swears to bring it back with him." He glanced at Roy. 

"I don't see why not. We may even be able to let you keep a copy, if Alphonse wanted to perform a bit of illegal copying alchemy when I wasn't looking." Roy shot a pointed look between Ed and Al. 

Al immediately pointed at Ed. "He created the array." 

Ed pointed right back at Al. "He smuggled them out." 

"Only because you _made me_!"

"Where else was I supposed to hide them after they caught me the first time?" 

"Maybe don't do illegal things?!" 

Roy covered his face while Anastasia and Natalia laughed. "I didn't actually expect confirmation," he offered into his hand a bit helplessly. 

"Whoops," Ed muttered, sounding completely unapologetic. 

Roy glanced at him. "Tell me you never took the originals out of the library without checking them out." 

Ed glanced away. 

" _Lie_ to me," Roy suggested. 

Ed flashed him a grin and very obviously lied, "I never took any original copies from the library without checking them out." 

Roy sighed. "Lovely." 

"I made sure he returned those," Al promised. 

"That makes me feel a little better," Roy decided. 

Ed shoved him. "Bastard." 

"Apologies," Anastasia interrupted, looking at Al. "What you said, of a future ruler learning more of their neighbours." 

Al cocked his head and, when that seemed to be all she had to say, he nodded and asked, "You're not finding it true?" 

Anastasia nodded. "It is, yes. I had learnt some from Ed, but there is difference, I have found, in knowing an Amestrisan in the setting of Drachma, and knowing one in the setting of Amestris." Then she looked at Roy and asked, "You are coming to Drachma, then, yes?" 

Roy blinked, while Al let out a startled laugh. "I remember you joking about that while we were at Briggs," he offered carefully, "but–"

"This is not a joke," Anastasia interrupted. "You would call it an invitation, yes?" 

"Come on, bastard," Ed added, nudging Roy's shoulder. "I have _got_ to get you to try vodka." 

Roy turned to Ed and raised an eyebrow. "I've had vodka before." Because Chris had got her hands on black market shipments a fair few times over his life, and he'd mastered sneaking alcohol from her 'secret' stores long before he'd been legal. 

Ed huffed. "Not in _Drachma_ ," he pointed out. 

Roy rolled his eyes and looked back at Anastasia. "You understand I can't decide one way or the other without consulting Führer Grumman, first." 

She sighed and nodded. "I know this, but I would set it before you; from one to-be-regent to another." 

Roy couldn't quite help a smile at that. "I'll mention to the Führer that I would be willing to accompany our ambassador to Drachma, though it will have to wait for the spring, I'm afraid." 

"Afraid of getting lost in a snow drift?" Ed mocked. 

Roy smirked at him. "Not all of us are so short–"

" _Who are you calling microscopic, you bastard_?!" Ed snapped, shoving him. 

Roy put on a considering look and gave Ed a very obvious look-over, pausing for an extra moment on his lap, then met his glare. "Not you," he promised. 

"Oh, gross," Al complained. But, when Roy looked over at him, he found him grinning. "Go get a _room_."

"Fuck you, this whole _house_ is our room," Ed retorted. "Just because we're polite enough–"

"Did you just call yourself _polite_?"

Roy sighed and interrupted, " _No_ , I'm not worried about snow drifts." He held up one ungloved hand, flexing it into a fist to make the ugly scar stand out. "My mobility is pretty much shot when my hands get too cold." 

Ed went very, very still for a beat, then he reached up and caught Roy's hand in both of his, pulling it against his chest, as though he thought he might need to warm it. "Fucking _Bradley_ ," he snarled. 

Roy curled his fingers over Ed's hands as much as he could as he turned back to Anastasia. "Not that I have any intention to make use of my alchemy while in the Imperial City, but I believe you understand my preference to have it available to me." 

Anastasia looked at him from where she'd been watching Ed, her gaze sad. "I do," she admitted. "I have known many soldiers who are brought to curl beside the fire for the winters, though they are true terrors in battle the rest of the year; Drachmans understand well that cold has a talent for bringing the greatest of warriors to their knees, though they would fight to the last not to bow to any mortal power." 

Roy couldn't quite keep himself from looking at Ed, and felt better at seeing Al doing the same thing. 

Ed snorted and shook his head. "I know better than to winter in Drachma." 

"Ed always leaves by the start of your December," Anastasia added. 

Al hummed. "Well, so, Brother can winter in Central this year, then he can act as a guide for the Amestrisan party up to the Imperial City in the spring. And then Drachma doesn't have to leave a guide at Briggs until our party is ready to go." 

Ed snorted. "Assuming Tsar Ivan trusts me enough." 

"I will speak with Batya," Anastasia promised. 

Ed shook his head. "Whatever. I was intending to be here for Elicia's birthday, anyway; I guess I can stick around for a couple more months." As if he didn't still have a firm grip on Roy's hand. 

And then Ed seemed to realise something and shot Al a sharp look. " ' _Our_ ' party, Alphonse?" 

Al smiled at him. "You can't, honestly, believe I won't find a way to tag along." 

Ed shot Roy a pleading look. "Stop him." 

Roy raised an eyebrow in response, because Ed, of _all_ people, should know that Roy had never had the power to stop an Elric intent on something. 

"Fuck," Ed complained. 

The phone rang out in the hall. 

"Edward," Roy said, tugging on his trapped hand. 

Ed shook his head. "Stuck. Al'll have to get it." 

Al got up with an exaggerated huff and stalked from the room. 

Roy didn't bother complaining, mostly because Al knew how to deactivate his traps, but also because he wasn't too bothered about letting Ed continue to clutch at his hand. "I'll talk to Führer Grumman once I've returned from escorting you back to Briggs," he promised. 

Anastasia smiled in understanding, while Ed let out a pleased noise. "And I will send Ed back with any stipulations from Batya. I do not suspect many–"

"Expect," Ed said, far less kindly than he had done when correcting Natalia. 

"That," Anastasia agreed. "I do not _expect_ many rules from him, but he is sometimes unreasonable." She huffed and shot Ed a sharp look, suggesting at a story that Roy wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I wonder why." 

Ed responded with an obnoxious laugh. 

Definitely a story, and definitely not one Roy needed to hear. "Excellent." He tugged at his hand again to catch Ed's attention. "We might want to get dressed before the others arrive." 

"Oh, yeah, I suppose," Ed agreed. And, because Al was the only one – other than Orlov – who had been dressed when he came down for breakfast, they all got up and headed upstairs to change, leaving Al to let the rest of Roy's team, Francine, and Miss Rockbell in. Which he bore with a knowing smile and a shake of his head. 

-0-

They did spend most of that day touring the public and military libraries, and Al and Roy only had to harass Ed twice to get him to move on. 

"Is he this bad with your libraries?" Al asked Anastasia after they'd finally managed to get Ed to move along the second time. 

Anastasia gave a nervous little laugh. "I had thought he could not read our language for a long time because he would always speak so of your libraries, but ours had no interest to him. When I learnt otherwise, I asked him why, and he said he snuck in to the university library once–"

"Of course he did," Roy and Al muttered in near perfect unison. 

Anastasia let out a quiet cough, her eyes sparkling. "Yes. It is our greatest library, but it is not common that a foreigner is given access without joining the university, so he had snuck in. And he said to me that he was not much impressed." She let out a slightly helpless sigh. "We do not have studies in alchemy, I think, and I do not know else that would interest him greatly." 

"Most sciences," Al offered. "He hated biology when we were kids, was always happier with a chemistry book, but he'd picked it back up before he left. Said he'd learnt its worth." 

"Hard facts," Roy offered, and Al nodded. "I doubt fiction would hold much attention for him." 

Al laughed. "No. He used to get so crabby when Mum would try to read us fairy tales. I liked them, but Brother would always pick them apart, so Mum had to give him one of Dad's alchemy books to keep him quiet while she read to me." 

"That said," Roy mused as it occurred to him, "if you know of any books – history or fiction – about the lost nation of Xerxes, that might interest him." 

Al shot him a sharp look. 

"Xerxes?" Anastasia repeated with an uncertain frown. 

"The great nation said to have existed hundreds of years ago in the Great Desert?" Roy offered; Drachma was old enough, surely they'd have some records of the lost nation. 

Anastasia's eyes lit. "Ah! Khashayar!" 

"Khashayar?" Al repeated, clearly confused. 

Anastasia nodded. "That is how my people came to know the name. It is said to have been a mistransliteration into our alphabet, but it was never thought to be corrected. Or, if it was, those records were lost." She shrugged. "But we did much trade with them before the desert ate them, so we have some histories from them, some of their sciences and stories; if I had known Ed was interested, I would have told him of them." 

"Family interest," Al offered, before calling ahead, "Brother! Did you know Drachma had some stuff about Xerxes?" 

Ed stopped in his tracks and turned wide, hungry eyes on them. "What? No. Where? I didn't see anything. And I fucking _loo_ –" he rambled until they caught up to him and Roy covered his mouth and Ed fell into step next to him. 

Anastasia was clearly delighted by this, for she was smiling widely as she said, "If you had yet _asked_ , I would have shown you." 

Al took pity on Ed and offered, "They call it by a different name. Khashayar, right?" 

Anastasia nodded. "Yes." Then she looked between them while Ed mouthed the new name. "What is the name you call it by?" 

"Xerxes," Al said. "One of the two survivors brought it to us with the alchemy he'd learnt there." 

Ed muttered some less-than-polite comments aimed at Father in Cretan. 

**"Accurate,"** Roy returned, ignoring Al's resigned sigh. **"At least you'll finally have some materials he never tainted?"**

Ed leant up and kissed his cheek, catching his hand and folding their fingers together. **"Thank you, my king,"** he murmured. 

Roy couldn't help a smile at the endearment, especially given its dual relation to both his name and the position he was aiming for. He brought up their joined hands and murmured, **"Anything for your smile, my sun,"** before kissing the back of Ed's hand, earning him a hint of pink across Ed's cheeks. 

"Kill me now," Al complained, while Anastasia covered a pleased smile. 

"Gladly," Ed promised, shooting his brother a glare around Anastasia. (And it was probably for the best that she was between the brothers, because Roy doubted his hold on Ed's hand would have been enough to stop a fight from breaking out.) 

Al rolled his eyes. "PDA, Brother." 

" 'PDA'?" Anastasia repeated uncertainly, while Ed blinked and looked around at the park Havoc and Riza had led them into as a short-cut to the last of the libraries they could conceivably allow their foreign visitors into. 

"Public display of affection," Al translated. 

"It is not permissible?" Anastasia asked, looking towards Ed and Roy. 

Roy shrugged. "Homosexual relationships aren't what you might call _common_ in Amestris, but there aren't any laws against it, either civilian or military, and there are certainly married couples, though very few are in the military." 

Ed squeezed his hand. "You'll still get shit for this," he pointed out, but he didn't pull away. 

Roy flashed him a smirk. "For dating the People's Alchemist?" 

Ed groaned and rubbed at his forehead with his free hand, while Al laughed. "Fuck. I forgot about that shit." 

"How could you forget?" Al asked between laughs. 

"Selective memory." 

"That explains so much." 

Roy cleared his throat, distracting the brothers from another potential row. "I told you yesterday: I'm not popular." He stopped, using his grip on Ed's hand to bring him to stop next to him, Al and Anastasia stopping a few steps beyond them. When Ed looked back at him, Roy offered him a smile and said, "I think Amestris has had enough of her leaders hiding dirty little secrets, don't you?" 

"Are you calling me so tiny–!" Ed started. 

Roy pulled him forward and kissed him to shut up. He felt Ed smile against his mouth and pulled back enough to whisper, "I'm calling you exactly what you are: Red and gold; mine and perfect." 

Pink bloomed over Ed's cheeks. "Ugh. Bastard," he complained, before kissing Roy hard. When he pulled back, he whispered, "Ya tebya lyublyu." 

Roy smiled and promised, "Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu." 

_I love you, too._

**OWARI**

..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of a sequel (because one out of every four reviewers is asking): I have two other EdRoy fics currently in progress, and I want to knock off at LEAST one of those, preferably both, before I start to even CONSIDER looking at the pile of research that's going to be required to write the sequel, since it's going to have to take place in Drachma and we all know I fudged half the shit in this fic. :P  
> So, I'm not saying 'No, absolutely not, never ever', mostly because my muse always makes me eat those promises, but I am saying, don't expect it any time soon.


End file.
